Special Investigations Division: Pax Romana
by Loki's Son
Summary: The Nova Romans of 492 IV have ventured out into the stars. The SID team is sent to assess if there's a potential threat and if there is another alien contiminant in the culture.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek lor its related properties. All such rights are owned by CBS/Paramount.**

**This is the third installment of the _Special Investigation Division_ series. Hopefully you'll enjoy this because there's more too come.**

Sea-green eyes peered through the hazy smoke filling the bridge. Unlike the rest of the scientific crew, she'd previously served aboard deep space vessels. She also held the dubious honour have having been the only crewman aboard who'd survived being attacked aboard a starship. _That is if you could count the surveyor we're aboard as a starship_, Lisea Danan thought dryly.

The venerable _Oberth_-class science ships had a long and proud history dating back to the late 23rd century. Once the mainstay of Starfleet's survey crews, the ships had finally started to be retired a century later. Ironically the _Nova_-class ships that replaced the _Oberth_ were now being replaced by the upgraded _Nova-X_-class. While that meant that the original ships were being refitted or retired, none had been made available to the Daystrom Institute.

Danan's Starfleet career had made her a logical candidate for this mission. The Advisory Planning Commission could not have expected a situation where her experience as a Maquis would prove useful, but here it was anyway. Danan could think of a dozen different ways to end this assault, even with the limited resources of the _SS Countess_. The Commission had selected the survey team's head to act as the _Tessie's _captain as well.

"Ca…" Danan began to say then gritted her teeth, "Dr. Syrik, we can't compete with their firepower and the warp nacelles are too badly damaged to outrun them. They've refused to acknowledge your request to surrender. We have to make a stand."

Syrik cocked an eyebrow as the deckplating shook from another phaser strike, "That would be illogical. We have nothing of value. Logically, they should cease their demands and pursuit and let us on their way. Since they have rejected the logical course, they should realise we have no quarrel with them and are content to let them have what they wish from us."

The ship shuddered again as Danan resisted the urge to strangle the stubborn Vulcan; "Logic doesn't have anything to do with this, you moron! They won't know we don't have anything until they board."

The Vulcan bristled at her words; "I will not allow hostile aliens to view any classified research projects that are aboard this ship."

"They weren't hostile until you refused to abide by their demand to heave to for inspection." Danan snapped.

"You are being highly emotional and this is affecting your reason." Syrik remarked, ignoring another shuddering groan from the abused ship; "The Federation's astronavigation charts list this system to uninhabited. Therefore there is no legal authority to which I must surrender. I suggest you retire to your quarters and meditate on a…."

Syrik slumped over as Danan tucked her Type I phaser back into her pocket. She then rushed to the Helm, "Bring us about."

Although startled by the authoritative tone in Danan's voice, the slender Benzite manning the station refused, "Dr. Syrik ordered me to maintain this course."

"Do you want me to stun you too?" Danan's exasperated tone left no doubts as to her willingness to do so.

"Bringing us about." The Benzite replied.

"Arm phasers." She ordered, then softened her tone; "These people have reacted negatively to every conciliatory gesture. With luck, they'll respond better to a show of strength. Fire a shot across their bow."

A long tense silence followed before the communications circuits activated, "Acknowledged _Countess_. We will discuss terms with you. I'm looking forward to meeting the person with enough courage to challenge us."

Danan sighed as her shoulders sagged in relief. The helmsman was already slumped across her board. She turned to study Syrik's limp form. Her years with the Maquis had altered her methodology of dealing with the universe, perhaps permanently. She slowly came to realise that the remaining bridge crew was staring at her in fear. She couldn't blame them.

Her concern was with the voice she'd communicated with. It was impossible to judge vocal intonations until one became familiar with a species and a culture, as Danan's long life and wandering hosts could attest to. Still, there was an ominous quality lacing even the computer's rendition of those tones. Coldness clenched her gut and she turned towards the linguistic specialist manning the comm station.

"Check the translator logs." Danan ordered, commands flowing more freely now; "What similarities are there between this language and any known tongues?"

"That's easy." The linguist's expression bore both hope and fear as he answered, "It's nearly identical to an ancient Earth language. This variant is actually far more intact than the derivative samples left across Earth."

"And this language would be?" Danan asked impatiently.

"Latin."

Lisea plumbed Danan's vast experience and memories for a clue as to the significance of this news and the feelings of dread that it inspired. She shifted to her astrometric station and took a location fix. The ship's co-ordinates locked the last vital bit of information into place and she knew whom they faced. Lisea suddenly prayed her actions had aided her comrades' position, not simply delivered them to deaths more painful than those available in space.

* * *

Elim Garak wore darkness like a shroud. Despite his insistent claims as to having a dull imagination, his years of forced exile in the guise of a tailor coloured his perceptions. He saw the bomb-ravaged alley he'd secreted himself in as an intricate tapestry of light and shadow, symmetry and chaos, and in the final sum, death and hope. Untold lives had been lost here and the survivors driven to refugee camps. These same tenements were now slated for the next phase of reconstruction. Their once and future occupants already queuing up for volunteer labour units.

Seeing his people's vigour in the face of desperate losses revitalised Garak's limited faith in other beings. His return to his birth world was also something of a pilgrimage, having spent the bulk of his adult life offplanet undertaking missions for the dreaded Obsidian Order. His exile for failing that same order brought him to _Terok Nor_. When the Cardassians withdrew and the Bajorans renamed the station _Deep Space 9_, Garak remained aboard. Having no other home or refuge besides his tailor shop on the station's Promenade, Garak found himself alone on the wrong side of the border of his beloved homeworld while denied even the slightest hope of returning.

Much to his everlasting joy and sorrow the Dominion War brought him home. Garak offered his intelligence tradecraft skills to Starfleet during the war. Legate Damar's fledgling uprising against the Dominion drew Garak back inside Cardassian space and to his planet of birth. When Damar fell during the Cardassian patriots' fateful assault on Central Command, Garak picked up the rallying cry and inspired the others to rise up and overthrow the Dominion's puppet government.

Since the cessation of hostilities, Garak had briefly served as Interim Legate until elections could be arranged. He gladly stepped down and offered his services to the reconstruction efforts rebuilding his planet. Along the way, Garak discovered an ancient and long repressed religious faith that was once again taking seed amongst the people. As ludicrous as it once would have seemed, embracing the faith of his stepfather filled holes within Garak he'd never realised he'd had. Obviously his time in Federation space had changed him far more profoundly then he would have dared imagine.

His interstellar connections had led him to providing introductions for the Bajoran _vedek_ peace delegation that successfully bypassed and thwarted the official talks sabotaged by the alien infested Shakaar Edon. With the First Minister's condition and culpability revealed, the civilian initiative garnered instant acclaim. Garak had been delighted at the course of events. So few things surprised or amused him any more that the rare quirk of fate that tickled his fancy was to be treasured. It was one such quirk that had brought him to this place on this particular evening.

This particular section of the capital had once been very affluent. Although the bones of the ruined homes had been picked over by scavengers many times over, there was still the occasional homeowner who returned in order to search for some lost titbit of personal treasure. Seeing as how the scavengers still made regular rounds of the debris sites hoping to find intrepid searchers, such outings usually went badly for the former occupant. The news agencies reported dozens of attacks every morning.

Owing to contacts in the _gendarme_, Garak knew these numbers were vastly underreported. He had few qualms however, as always he had prepared for his own excursion with meticulous care. The phaser at his side was hardly his only means of defence and primarily served as a distraction. The truly lethal implements were discreetly hidden about his person and a hundred-metre radius in all directions.

Hearing a noise, Garak tensed slightly. He slowed his breathing even as his senses focused and sharpened. The outline of two figures could be made out in the dim light. The number was correct but there was no guarantee that it was still Garak's expected party. He waited in perfect silence while they drew close enough for him to study their body language. It did not take him long to ascertain that the two approaching figures were not Cardassians, which meant they were here for the rendezvous.

The two figures stepped into the brightest patch of the alleyway and stopped. They were both humanoid. One humanoid was male, the other female. Although Garak had seen them before, he took a moment to reappraise them.

The man's name was Brin Macen. A former Commander in Starfleet Intelligence, Macen had left the service just under a year before in response to disciplinary action received for exceeding his orders. An El-Aurian, Macen departed with eighty accrued years of Starfleet service. He'd formed an independent consulting and security firm, _Outbound Ventures, Inc._, and taken to the life of a privateer.

Garak had first come across Macen's name in relation to the decade long undeclared border war between the Federation and the Cardassian Union. Macen had become something of an expert in Cardassian affairs and was highly observed by the Obsidian Order's agents. This body of knowledge later inspired Starfleet to insert Macen into the Maquis in order to observe, redirect, and if necessary, arrest them. Macen turned the tables on all expectations by throwing in with the Maquis.

The destruction of the Maquis and the ever-changing fortunes of the Dominion War provided Macen with redemption in the eyes of Starfleet. Macen and a select band of Maquis, including Ro Laren, provided intelligence and territorial expertise for Special Operations Forces operating far beyond enemy lines. The specially recruited commando force being comprised of Angosian super-soldiers. Time and again, they ventured into the heart of Dominion space and accomplished the impossible. The battered and exhausted veterans would return to Federation space merely to offload the wounded, restock supplies and head back into the conflict. It was warfare Maquis style and it achieved impossible results bought at horrendous costs.

After the war, Macen had been inducted into a newly created Starfleet agency christened the Special Investigative Division. It was while working for this entity that he was cashiered. Many still wondered whom he truly worked for at this phase of his career. Was his defection another ruse or was Macen truly an independent operator?

His physical appearance was identical to Garak's recollection of their brief encounter several months before. Macen was still tall with a medium build. He had reddish blonde hair and a goatee that complimented his fair complexion. His eyes drifted between blue and green in adaptation of their surroundings.

His mode of dress was telling. Although not a uniform, it possessed a militant air that reflected his years in Starfleet and the Maquis. Macen wore a moss green shirt under a dark leather jacket that barely hid his holster. A Bajoran phaser hung from the black utility belt at Macen's waist. Black pants and boots completed his ensemble.

Macen's companion presented a far more conflicted image. Garak knew of T'Kir through reputation alone. Upon meeting her, he could see why many Cardassians still spoke of her. She could easily slide back into the "Mad Vulcan" role that earned her infamy.

The only evidence she presented of being of Vulcan origin was her delicate upwardly curved ears. Her ovular face found itself highlighted by high cheekbones, pouty lips, and a slightly rounded nose. T'Kir's blue eyes and voluptuous curves were unusual for Vulcan norms. Her trademark short, chaotically spiky raven hair was now blonde and nearly came to her shoulders.

Her known disregard for her people's rigid constraints extended beyond their emotional restrictions to their mores regarding clothing. T'Kir wore a leather trenchcoat over a charcoal sweater. Paired with that were black leather pants and Starfleet uniform boots that dated back over a century. The Vulcan anathema to wearing skins was nowhere to be seen here.

"You can come out now Garak." Macen broke the still silence, "You've had plenty of time to confirm our identities."

Garak smiled thinly to himself. No one took time to play the game properly anymore. Meetings like this weren't merely an exchange of information. They were a soliloquy, a performance to be savoured and enjoyed. Each movement and word a step in an interwoven tapestry of life and death. There were no losses or victories because there were no spectators, only judges, and an unsatisfactory performance yielded death.

_Then again, _Garak mused to himself, _all the rules of changed._

Garak stepped out from the deepest shadows; "I am here as agreed Captain Macen. Now, if I may be so bold, may I ask why my presence was required here at this late hour?"

Macen smiled but his eyes did not, "Your presence is necessary to hand over information your government needs but I can't deliver to them."

Garak's interest perked, as did his wariness; "Indeed? And what manner of information might this be?"

Macen reached into his jacket. Garak's hand tightened around the discreet controller mounted on a ring around his finger. His hand relaxed as he noted that T'Kir had managed to draw her phaser without a sound. He nodded and flashed her commending smile.

Macen withdrew a Federation style padd and handed it to Garak, "The information is unencrypted so you can read it immediately rather than later. I'll sum it up for you in one brief stateroom: all the surviving Maquis arms stockpiles, ships and weapons are missing."

Garak's eyes widened slightly, "I thought all of the Maquis were either slain, enslaved, or driven from the Demilitarised Zone by the Jem'Hadar."

Macen nodded, "The Jem'Hadar were ruthlessly efficient but even they didn't have the time or numbers to trace every supply cache and remove its contents."

"Why are you telling me this?" Garak asked with more than his usual level of suspicion.

"Because Admiral Nechayev asked me to survey and catalogue these sites and then share the report with the Provisional Government here on Cardassia." Macen answered.

"Ah," Garak smiled knowingly, "so you are still a Starfleet operative."

Macen smiled his head but shook his head, "No, Garak, I'm just a civilian. I was _contracted_ because of my unique knowledge of the area. My being here is a direct result of that same contract."

Garak mused over that, "I wondered what would make you betray your fellow Maquis."

"You truly misunderstand me." Macen replied with a trace of pity, "There are no Maquis to betray. The DMZ is still firmly in Cardassian territory with renegotiations planned. Most of the few survivors of the work camps are re-immigrating to the Federation. What that left was a sizeable amount of weapons scattered across the Zone. Now it seems as though someone else with the knowledge of where to look and the time to do so has recovered all the abandoned equipment."

"What do you think it means?" Garak asked, feeling uneasy for the first time.

Macen shrugged, "Who knows? You don't collect weapons unless you plan on using them. Whoever they are, they must know that there's been too much destruction in this region of space."

"And how vulnerable Cardassia, and especially her colonies, are." Garak commented bitterly.

"The help is there for the asking." Macen reminded.

Garak's smile was bitter, "You forget how stubborn my people are."

"I'll never forget that." Macen assured him, "Our job here is done so we'll be leaving."

"No reminiscing? I'm terribly disappointed." Garak chastised.

Macen turned back, "Speaking of which, thank you again for your help the last time I was here as well as on this matter."

Garak lifted the padd in salute, "I'm gratified that I took the time. Now in order not to undermine my efforts, I should warn you that you'll probably have a welcoming committee near your ship."

"The usual dockside reception committee?"

Garak bowed slightly with a pleased smirk, "Exactly. A pleasant evening to you then."

Garak sunk back into the shadows as T'Kir and Macen strolled back to the groundcar they'd rented. It was a triangular framed vehicle with three tires and a roll cage shrouded cockpit. T'Kir activated the engine and the driving lights. She threw the vehicle into gear and sped off towards the shuttleport where their runabout waited.

"What was that talk about 'the usual reception committee'?" she asked over the wind noise.

The instrument lights revealed Macen's grim smirk as he replied; "Cardassian ports are infamous for their roving band of dockhands that exact 'unofficial' duties from visiting freighter crews. The practice extends back before the Federation Wars and Dominion affiliation."

"So we're gonna get mugged?"

"Exactly."

"Cool." T'Kir replied brightly.

* * *

Admiral Amanda Drake sat back in her chair behind her desk in Starfleet Headquarters. So far, nothing in known space had occurred that required her attention. Since she commanded the Special Investigations Division of Starfleet Intelligence, things requiring her attention were generally unpleasant to say the least. Normally she couldn't go ten hours before receiving an unwanted report of distress of escalating tensions somewhere. Drake watched the chronometer mark the twelfth hour since she had logged on duty and breathed a sigh of relief.

_A new record, _Drake thought happily, _maybe things are finally settling down after the war_.

Her desktop's insistent comm chirp deflated that notion, "Sorry, Admiral, but we're receiving a distress call that I think will interest you."

Drake grimaced. Ambril Delori was her most trusted aid and analyst. She'd attached her star to Drake's own and in doing so propelled Drake into her current job. Drake implicitly trusted Ambril's hunches without reservation.

"Send it to me Ambril." Drake's eyes widened as she saw the location indicator of the distress call and reactived the comm, "Ambril, get my Admirals Nechayev, Ross, Jellico, and Marrin'g as soon as possible."

"Yes, ma'am" Ambril replied crisply and signed off.

_Dear God. What are we in for?_ Drake wondered dismally.

* * *

They left the transport at the rental provider T'Kir had chosen. An elderly Cardassian came out to assess the vehicle for damage and log its return into the office computer. He finished his tasks by issuing a refund chit exchangeable for Federation trade credits or gold pressed latinum. Macen studied the chit and then offered it back to the aged man.

"Your tip, sir." Macen said with a smile.

The Cardassian wore a stunned expression, "What trickery is this? That chit is worth more than most people's life savings around here."

Macen shrugged, "Then give it to someone else, or several people. I'm on an expense account. The bill for the vehicle has already been submitted and it contains that deposit. Since I'm not in the habit of defrauding my employers, I prefer to give it away."

That caused the Cardassian to struggle for words, "I don't know what to say."

"Just say you'll try to prevent any future wars between your people and the Federation."

"It's a pact!" the Cardassian vowed.

"Good night to you then." Macen bowed his head.

The Cardassian watched, mystified, as Macen and T'Kir walked off into the shadows. The mysterious Vulcan had smiled throughout his exchange with the presumed human. That fact had sent as many shivers through his spine as his newfound wealth. Every day eroded the ingrained derision he'd always felt for aliens. Tonight had been no exception, in fact, it had provided the greatest instructor: personal experience. The Cardassian, a grandfather many times over, returned to his post and envisioned the delighted squeals of his family as they basked in comforts of a rebuilt house thanks to the Federation man's gift.

Meanwhile, Macen and T'Kir nonchalantly strolled onward through the docks.

With their ship, the _Ju'day_-class _Eclipse_, on its way to Starbase 514 Yards to repair damage inflicted during their last harrying mission, they'd had to utilise alternative means of transportation. They'd used a _Danube_-class runabout named _Corsair_. Unlike the hybridised _Eclipse,_ the _Corsair_ was a rugged, proven platform. Although listed as a downgraded civilian variant, the _SS Corsair_ was fully stocked and loaded to Starfleet specifications.

One of her modules housed an emergency medical treatment centre. Another module served as an armoury and special equipment storage. The third module was rigged to serve as a detention cell. The fourth and last module contained a bed and a shower to supplement the beds in the crew lounge.

She had performed admirably on her debut outing. Macen had decided to restrict the crew to himself and T'Kir owing to the tight quarters. Trying to cram the other seven members of the team aboard was possible but unlikely to be comfortable for any length of time. That led to the other reason the others were not part of the mission. The battle damage they'd sustained proved to Macen that although their ship could be adequately handled by the team members, hiring trusted individuals to serve as ships' crewmen would greatly relieve stress and fatigue. The team's XO, Tom Riker, was currently recruiting from a list of names supplied by Macen.

Macen felt a surge of anticipation at the thought of having a fully functional scoutship to call his own again. The last had been a decommissioned Starfleet _Blackbird_-class scout christened the _Odyssey_. He'd acquired the vessel during his tenure with the Maquis and used it as an intelligence-gathering platform. It was a tough ship that had met an unnecessarily cruel end at the hand of an ex-Starfleet officer working for the Andergani Oligarchy's pirate cartel.

T'Kir interrupted his thoughts with a light touch of her hand against his, _We're not alone any more. I think our farewell party is about to begin._

Inwardly, Macen was impressed and proud of her ever-developing control of her once rampantly unbridled abilities. Releasing her hand, Macen spun while going for his holster. T'Kir did likewise in the opposite direction. They stopped standing back to back, Macen holding his phaser in his right hand, T'Kir in her left.

Four Cardassians stopped dead in their tracks. Their plan had entirely depended upon surprise and sheer brute force to overwhelm their intended victims. Working at the docks had granted them impressive physiques but little in the way of mental exercise. However, they were more than capable of undertaking the mental algebra required to assess the odds of three pry bars and a blade overcoming two phasers. Reaching nearly simultaneous and identical outcomes, the Cardassians dropped their implements and ran back into the shadows.

"Awww." T'Kir mocked, "They don't want to play no more."

Macen responded with a half-hearted scowl of reproof. He'd known T'Kir for far too long to expect much else from her. It would have alarmed most people to discover that she stood among the few beings he had absolute confidence in. As Guinan, Ro Laren, Elias Vaughn, and Svetlana Korepanova made up the rest of this extremely brief list, T'Kir stood amongst an illustrious assembly.

"Let them go." He advised, "I'd rather just stow our gear and be off this rock."

"I'm not gonna argue with that." T'Kir consented. Her past was filled with as much tragedy and injustice as nearly any other settler in what became the DMZ. The rage had been enough to drive her away from the upbringing of her childhood and into the bloody throes of her ancestral heritage. Even in ruins, Cardassia Prime still evoked a primal rage within her.

With the incentive to avail themselves of real beds and showers, they packed quickly and managed to lift off of Cardassia Prime within thirty minutes. The heavy shipments of relief aid being shipped to the surface and the Allied garrison patrols filled the Cardassian skies. The fact the _Corsair_ had secured an early departure and avoided interference while headed into orbit was nothing short on the probability scales of successfully orbiting a singularity's event horizon in such a way as to complete a revolution while arriving at your same point and time of departure. Never one to argue with incredible fortune, Macen and T'Kir set course for Brackenburn and engaged the warp engines as soon as they cleared the planet's gravity well.

"It's gonna be so good to relax for a while." T'Kir sighed, "I bet those lucky stiffs back at home have been lounging about whining about nothing t'do."

"You wish, and so do they." Macen grinned, "If they are lazing about, then we'll be joining them in just over ten hours."

"Can't we detour to Risa?" she whined.

"No."

"Crap."

Macen smiled as he tilted his chair back and closed his eyes. Things were already getting back to normal.


	2. Chapter 2

37

Admiral Drake cleared her throat before stepping behind the podium situated alongside the viewer mounted in the briefing room's wall. The table facing the viewer curved so as to grant an uninhibited view to all seated. It also created the psychological image of a scimitar in the presenter's mind, and considering the power vested in the personages seated before Drake; it was little wonder why. The movers and shakers of Starfleet were rarely assembled in one place together due to security concerns but Drake's intel had drawn them in from across the quadrant.

There was far more than a viewer mounted within these walls. Between the transport inhibitors, communication jammers, subspace field distorters, electrostatic shields, and the small army of Security personnel waiting outside the armoured doors, one could well and truly say this was perhaps the most secure location on Earth. It was rumoured the Federation President didn't have such security but only because he didn't need it as much. The old joke reflected the conventional wisdom that such precautions were only undertaken to prevent an assault upon the officials gathered. No one ever realised that these labyrinthine precautions were designed to keep the secrets spoken within from ever escaping, and thereby harming, an unsuspecting public.

Each person in this room was there only because their position mandated them with the care and maintenance of the shroud of secrecy that surrounded the topic they were about to discuss. Only three other people outside of Starfleet held access to this information, not including the President. The highest ranking members of the Foreign Affairs and Interior Affairs cabinets in the Federation Council, along with the President's Interplanetary Security Advisor, were sworn into silence and monitored through the use of a cortical implant insuring they did not reveal to anyone that which they'd been entrusted with.

Less than a dozen civilisations or worlds fell under the regulations requiring these methods. Most had received their classifications requiring such extreme consideration over a century ago. As the Federation's science and borders expanded, so did her ability to deal with the new and outré. Now only these few remaining planets held the strictest of quarantines and even they had been quiet throughout living memory. Until now, that is.

Seated around the table were Alynna Nechayev, Drake's boss and Director of Starfleet Intelligence. Beside Nechayev sat Bill Ross, victorious commander of the Dominion War campaign and CO of the 7th and 9th Fleets. Next came Edward Jellico, the former starship captain and Director of Starfleet Operations. Jaroess Marrine, the first Ktarian flag officer and the Director of Starfleet Security, occupied the last seat set out for the meeting.

"Can we get on with this?" Jellico asked curtly, "I have a million things scheduled after this… and had been hoping to get a full nights rest."

"I apologise for the hour, Admiral Jellico." Drake bit her tongue on her preferred reply, "I have no control over when the Sanctuary Protocols will be invoked, only the natives of the worlds under their jurisdiction can be asked for a little consideration regarding one's own schedule."

Jellico turned a fuming shade of red and Nechayev mentally composed a congratulatory note to her protégé as Drake pressed on, "As a matter of procedure I have to remind you all that you are bound under Article 2 of the Sanctuary Protocols and no discussion of this meeting will transpire with any other sentients other than the duly designated members of the Federation Council and Executive Office. Only after a unanimous consent of all members can details of these Protocols or worlds under their protection be disseminated to other beings."

Drake took a deep breath, drawing sympathetic chuckles; "That being said, we have trouble."

Dryly, Marrine replied; "We would assumed so since we were all summoned with such urgency and haste. I do not wish to mirror Edward Jellico's impatience but my curiosity is overwhelming me."

Drake smiled humourlessly, "The world in question, like most of those falling under the Sanctuary Protocols, was discovered over a century ago. Again like most of the others, it was found by none other than Captain James T. Kirk. Between his first and second five-year exploration missions, Kirk discovered and made contact with two-thirds of the Sanctuary planets. It was the reaction of members of his crew that inspired Starfleet Command to install the Protocols in order to prevent quadrant-wide panic based upon rumours and theories of the existence of these worlds. Each planet was removed from the Federation's navigational charts, their surrounding sectors declared quarantined owing to lethal contamination and warning and surveillance buoys put in orbits throughout the sectors surrounding the individual star systems."

Marrine smiled indulgently, "And the system as been running smoothly for a century. Why are you summoning us here with vague threats with no supportive facts?"

"At 1743 hours, PST, Earth Standard Orbit, we received a fragmentary distress signal from a decommissioned _Oberth_-class surveyor released by Starfleet to the Daystrom Institute. They'd monitored explosions near star system 492 while conducting a non-invasive astrometric survey of the Regelious sector and went to investigate. At nearly that same time, Starfleet Communications lost contact with not one or two of our surveillance buoys surrounding 492, but with all of them. The last piece of data received was final burst transmission from the Daystrom ship, _SS Countess_, saying they were under attack from unknown forces. Nothing further has been heard since."

"You'll have to forgive me for not having brushed up on all these planets before," Jellico asked with far more humility than before, "but why are we monitoring this 'star system '492'?"

"492 IV is one of the Sanctuary worlds surveyed by James Kirk. The _Enterprise_, the original that is, was searching for a missing Federation survey ship, the _SS Beagle_. The _Enterprise_ came across a badly damaged _Beagle_ locked in a decaying orbit over an M-class world." Drake's features darkened, "In his haste to search for the missing civilians, Kirk failed to note the pivotal detail that would play so heavily in Commander Spock's Science Report. The M-class planet underneath the _Enterprise_ was an exact duplicate of Earth."

"A Preserver World." Ross deduced grimly. Starfleet possessed an institutional distrust of the Preserver artefacts and planets left scattered across the quadrant, and presumably the galaxy. The very soul of the Prime Directive flew in the face of the practices of a species that would pull primitive beings from their world and place them on an entirely new world constructed by unknown means to match their old. Since most of those societies had subsequently self-destructed, the whole scheme began to smack of enigmatic experiments callously played out upon unwitting subjects.

"492 IV is one of the few of the Earth type worlds that hasn't been reduced by war or plague to a new barbarism. The culture discovered there was one comparable to the late Industrial Age in the Social Technology Scale or Earth's mid-20th century. Separation, time, and the Preservers' choices for test subjects bred some differences between Earth and her counter-part, but on the whole, the technological base was surprisingly similar."

Drake's eyes narrowed as she continued, "The single largest difference was that 492 IV was ruled by the Roman Empire. Labelling this second Roman civilisation the Nova Roman Empire, theorist have surmised that the ancestral Nova Romans came from Republican times evidenced by the convention of titling their leader as 'Proconsul' rather than as 'Emperor'. With the Preservers apparently providing the same localised 'barbarians' to contend with as their Earth analogue, the Nova Romans had roughly the same pressures and pitfalls to face as the Romans of Earth's past."

"This history lesson is well and good," Jellico interjected, "but where is it leading and what is its point?"

"The point is that over one hundred years ago, Captain Kirk found a world governed by a martial philosophy whose every sense of values revolved around displays of strength and conquest. This same world had only recently begun constructing combustible fuel groundcars and unstable airships. The Nova Romans were still developing the technology to place a satellite in orbit around their world."

Drake's eyes bored in on Jellico's, "In one hundred years, they have advanced their technological base by an estimated three hundred year period as well as provided evidence of possessing cloaking technology."

"This is disturbing." Marrine agreed, "How was this possible?"

Drake shook her head; "Due to the very nature of the very nature of the Sanctuary Protocols, we have no way of knowing. The Nova Romans were left with the remains of the _Beagle_ as well as the information divulged by Captain Merrick of the races and technology beyond 492 IV. That being said, the Nova Romans shouldn't have been able to reverse engineer 23rd century technology in only one century just as they shouldn't have been able to construct a cloaking device since neither Federation civilian craft nor starships ever carried such a device in that era. My analysts and I agree that only leaves the possibility that another group or race as assisted the Nova Romans in their efforts."

Marrine and Jellico fidgeted uncomfortably as the latter spoke, "What makes you draw such a conclusion and who authorised you to grant access to this data to any personnel."

Nechayev stirred to Drake's defence but the younger woman waved her off, "In case you don't recall, operational jurisdiction regarding Sanctuary matters became part of the Special Investigation Division's mandate at its inception. A select analysis team monitors all transmissions and data received from the observatory buoys and all are sworn under the same oaths and bound by the same security precautions. This team, and I personally reviewed and endorsed their findings, suggest that the Nova Roman's remarkable technical progress is inconceivable without outside support. Rumours from the borders of Romulan and Breen space suggest the existence of an unknown race beyond charted space that is more than technically capable of offering such support."

"So you're basing this recommendation on rumours and guesswork?" Jellico asked between clenched teeth.

"If I may remind you Eddie, more often than not, intelligence is nothing more than smoke and vapours made into substance through hard work and insight." Nechayev mirthfully reminded Jellico.

Jellico _harrumphed_ as Drake moved on to the next item, "The SID, like Starfleet Intelligence, employs mainline Starfleet officers as well as irregulars."

"Mercenaries." Marrine commented sourly, "Guns for hire."

"Seeing as how most of the irregulars are former Starfleet officers, what does that assessment say about our service?" Drake asked meekly.

Marrine flushed as the briefing resumed, "The point of using irregulars, typically hired as contractors or consultants through secondary organisations, is to achieve legal plausible deniability. With the freedom to move across borders denied access to Starfleet, irregulars can then investigate matters inaccessible to Starfleet Intelligence. If captured, Starfleet can legally deny culpability but remains free to assist in diplomatic measures as well as any covert rescue operations."

"I assume you're planning on sending an irregular team to 492 IV." Bill Ross spoke up; "My only question is why an irregular team versus a mainline team?"

Drake nodded and changed the viewer's image, "The Sanctuary Protocols mandate that Starfleet personnel are to be used in the containment of a Sanctuary world only if no further recourse were available. The area around 492 is quarantined space and full disclosure would have to be made in order to convince a starship captain to violate a Federation edict. Starfleet Intelligence ships and crews could perform the mission but then they would constrained by the same security precautions as the rest of us."

"That still doesn't explain using civilians." Jellico spat.

"Our civilian teams have been thoroughly vetted. Most of the members are highly skilled former Starfleet personnel. These are small teams of eight to fifteen people. Which is a small number of potential persons to detain and relocate to a secure location in case of a security breach. These people have proven their loyalty to Starfleet and, most of all, repetitively to the Federation itself and the ideals it stands for."

"Well put." Ross congratulated with an appreciative nod of his head, "I take it you have a team in mind?"

"Yes." Drake with replied certainly, "I intend to use the first team recruited into the SID and the first team to reclassify as privateers. They are our most experienced and successful assets."

"Would it be too much to ask to know the identities of these miracle workers?" Jellico disdainfully inquired.

"Certainly, I have a presentation prepared on just this topic." Drake altered the viewer image again to display a service record picture of Brin Macen; "This is the team leader and mission commander, Brin Macen. Macen is a former Commander in Starfleet Intelligence with a highly decorated career spanning over eighty years."

"How is that possible?" Marrine asked as Jellico groaned, "He appears far too young for such a rank much less such a lengthy career."

Drake nodded, "Macen is an El-Aurian, the only member of his race to ever formally join Starfleet. An explorer and social scientist for his native world before their assimilation by the Borg, Macen proved an adept student of Alpha Quadrant cultures and quickly developed expertise in Cardassian affairs during the Federation's violent first contact with Cardassian borders. He continued to enhance this reputation throughout Starfleet's subsequent dealings with the High Command."

Jellico snorted loudly, "I worked with this arrogant prig when he was assigned to me as an advisor during the negotiations that ended the First Cardassian War. He was wilful, insubordinate and tended to act without authorisation."

"But his methods achieved their desired results." Drake countered, "A fact noted in your own reports from the period."

"A fluke." Jellico rebutted, "One of the many that comprised Brin Macen's career before he was drummed out of Starfleet."

"Before we get to the end of Brin Macen's official ties with Starfleet, let's recap the events leading up to that event." Drake suggested, "After the conclusion of the Second Cardassian War and the subsequent treaty forming the Demilitarised Zone, Macen was sent into the DMZ to infiltrate the rebel colonists group known as the Maquis."

"A group which Macen sympathised with and defected to." Jellico glared down the table at Nechayev, "Despite what some may claim."

"While it is true Macen truly sympathised with the Maquis cause," Drake clarified, "he did not endorse the radical and xenophobic measures espoused by some cell leaders. Earning the position of Chief of Intelligence for the Ronaran cell led by another Starfleet defector, Ro Laren, Macen became privy to invaluable details of the Maquis command structure, cell leaders, and operational plans that he subsequently passed on to Starfleet Intelligence. Dozens of provocative attacks were thwarted due to this information as well the redirection of some cell's efforts towards a political solution."

Drake locked eyes with Jellico, "During this time, Macen knew of or learned the identities of the other few infiltrators and never divulged their identities to the other Maquis. This is not a man that defied orders and went rogue."

Jellico shifted unhappily but remained mercifully silent, "After the Jem'Hadar sweep of the DMZ, Ro Laren and Macen brought a ragged band of Maquis survivors to Bajor to seek asylum. Commander Elias Vaughn of Starfleet Special Operations was on hand and helped persuade the Bajoran First Minister Shakaar Edon to either grant the asylum requests or offer commissions in the Militia. This would allow the Maquis to act as guides and scouts for Starfleet commando teams sent deep behind enemy lines in the former DMZ and the Badlands. Macen was reassigned as an Intelligence officer for one of the teams and finished out the Dominion War in this capacity."

"That does not explain the period following the war." Marrine reminded.

"Macen was caught up in the inevitable mopping up after a war. Following this, he stumbled across a rendezvous that would herald his next assignment and lead to the formation of the SID. Before shipping out, he received a promotion to Captain and received his first starship command. After investigating the Gulag and the conspiracy within the Council itself that created it, Macen agreed to become the first leader of select team of special investigators.

The team's first official mission ended with tragedy and Macen violating direct orders not to fire upon the pirate responsible for the enslavement and torture of over a hundred captives. Macen was reduced in rank to Commander and allowed to retired with full benefits and honours. In actuality, with the SID's support, he founded his own private firm and his crew stayed on to become our first team of irregulars."

Do we have profiles of the rest of the team?" Ross asked, cutting off any chance of Jellico speaking.

Drake nodded gratefully, "The team's tactical specialist is Rab Daggit."

The image displayed a chiselled man with close cropped greying hair. His steely blue eyes held infinite sadness and inescapable menace in them at the same time. A small discoloration at his temple was nearly disguised by the thin white scars marring his face. It was the unmistakable sign of a cortical implant.

"Daggit is a former Lt. Commander in Starfleet Security. Starfleet recruited Daggit when the Federation Council voted to rescind the prohibition blocking Angosia's entry into the UFP in exchange for the services of the veterans of the Tarsian Wars. As you all know, these veterans were mentally and physically altered and conditioned to become veritable 'super-soldiers'. After the wars end, the problem was that the modifications could not be reversed and the Angosian government chose to imprison the veterans rather than pursue a cure.

Daggit first served as a commando unit commander. Brin Macen was the unit's intelligence officer. Daggit transferred to the _Enterprise-E_ after the Dominion treaty and briefly served as Chief Tactical Officer under Jean-Luc Picard. It was while serving in this capacity that Daggit learned of Macen's involvement with the new-born SID and requested a transfer."

"Very touching." Jellico commented drolly, "Macen has his own pet soldier. Who else is part of this menagerie?"

The room chilled as the other senior officers turned a cold eye towards the irascible Jellico; "Hal Dracas serves as the team's engineering expert."

Dracas bore a hairstyle popular during the last century. His sandy brown hair was short and slicked down to form a crown of hair. His shaggy beard emphasised the fact that Dracas' face was wider and more stolid. His mouth was twisted up in a smile that made one think he found life an ongoing bad joke. His eyes held only dark humour.

"Dracas comes from Ardanna IV and is a member of the Troglyte caste. He achieved the rank of Master Chief before resigning from Starfleet. His record is as secret as it is exemplary. Dracas served in the Special Projects Yards section of Utopia Planetia for eighteen years. He transferred to the SID at his own request."

"Is it wise to let a resource such as this man go free?" Marrine asked.

Drake shrugged, "What can we do? Arrest him? We shut down the Gulag in order to prevent such actions. I'd hate to see us revive such practices."

"So would I." Ross agreed firmly, "That's why we'll do everything in our legally mandated power to prevent a re-occurrence of such a vile travesty. So, please continue."

Still only somewhat appeased, Drake forced herself to focus at the topic at hand, "Next comes Hannah Grace."

The viewer displayed a young blonde fair-skinned woman with brown eyes. She looked as though she'd just graduated Starfleet Academy. Her lips were drawn in a bright, ebullient smile. Sheer delight at life and of living emanated from her.

"Grace is the team's flight operations specialist. She left Starfleet with the rank of Lt. J.G., a promotion she had just received. There are indications that she was involved with, and actively serving, the elusive agency known only as Section 31. Her ties with that agency have since been severed and representatives of 31 took her prisoner at one point.

Those are the known quantities of Hannah Grace. There are a few mysteries surrounding this vibrant, seemingly innocent, young woman. The greatest of them being that when she underwent the physical for Starfleet Academy's entrance exam, her results not only came out perfect, they achieved the limit of human perfection. Medical experts attempted to contact her parents but it was though they had never existed in any Federation database or colonial census."

"And she was allowed to enlist?" Jellico sputtered.

"Her background was sufficiently complete to allow entrance and her medical condition has been closely studied over the last five years." Drake answered indifferently, "This leads us to the team's latest addition, Thomas William Riker."

"Isn't that Jean-Luc Picard's whipping boy 1st Officer?" a surprised Jellico asked.

Drake shook her head with a rueful smile, "No, it's much more complicated then that. Tom Riker is Will Riker's exact twin produced by a transporter mishap on Nervala IV. Tom Riker's existence was not revealed for another eight years. During that time, he survived isolated and alone believing he was the only Riker in existence. Meeting the rapidly promoted Commander Riker came as something of a shock to Lt. Riker."

"Rapidly promoted my ass." Jellico muttered, "Riker's turned down more commands than anyone in the fleet. At this rate, he's going to become Starfleet's first career 1st Officer."

"Lt. Riker was as appalled as you yourself, Admiral." Drake revealed, "He saw Commander Riker as having wasted all the opportunities that he had paid for. In the end, Lt. Riker adopted the use of both Riker's middle name and reported to the _USS Gandhi_ as Lt. Thomas William Riker."

"Riker's start on the _Gandhi _was somewhat tumultuous. The 1st Officer saw him as a threat to her position. The crew viewed him as an oddity, the product of freak mishap and worried that they were somehow transporter duplicates switched for the originals. All these factors combined with Will Riker's fame within Starfleet drove Tom Riker to pursue his career in areas Will Riker had never ventured." Drake continued her biographical sketch, "He transferred to the _Gandhi's_ Flight Operations department and became a courier pilot. It was in this facility that he met a Maquis crew while attempting to deliver medical aid to a plague infected planet. The leader of that Maquis cell was one former Lt. Commander Chakotay. I'm sure we're all familiar with his name due to his status as 1st Officer of Starfleet's only starship in the Delta Quadrant, the _USS Voyager._"

Drake took a deep breath before plunging, "Two weeks after Riker's contact with Chakotay, he went AWOL."

"See," Jellico grinned, "there's just something untrustworthy about a Riker."

"Including their father, the Ambassador-at-large?" Nechayev innocently asked.

Jellico's silence provided Drake with an opening to continue, "Tom Riker's last mission for the Maquis was nearly his first as well. Knowing that Starfleet Security would not have added sub-molecular scans in order to insure his identity as Will Riker, Tom infiltrated _Deep Space 9_, posing as Commander William Riker enjoying a much deserved shore leave. His true object was to steal the _USS Defiant_ and penetrate deep inside Cardassian space to strike a hidden shipyard.

With _DS9's _CO Ben Sisko co-operating with Gul Dukat in Riker's pursuit, the shipyard was revealed to _both _Starfleet and the High Command. It belonged to the Obsidian Order and, as would soon be revealed, the ships produced there were intended for an attack upon the Founder's homeworld in the Gamma Quadrant. Surrounded by Cardassians on all sides, Riker was forced to surrender to Dukat. Sisko managed to convince Dukat to remove the usual death sentence for Riker's actions and have it reduced to hard labour. Despite Riker's misgivings he agreed after it was arranged his crew would face trial in Federation space."

"If he's supposed to be on a Cardassian labour planet, how is he Macen's 1st Officer?" Ross asked sceptically.

"Riker was freed from the labour camps less than a year after his arrival. His extraction seems to be the result of a rogue Tal Shiar operation headed up by Commander Sela. Riker had apparently befriended Sela's mentor, who had been held in the same camp as Riker. It seems in exchange for his friendship and for saving his life, the mentor wanted Riker set free. Rumours abound as to whether events unfolded according to the mentor's wishes but in the end, Riker was a free man." Drake answered without reservation, "Riker was not seen throughout the Dominion War but unverified reports have him smuggling in foodstuffs, medical supplies and weapons to local resistance cells on Dominion occupied Federation worlds. Wherever and however Macen contacted Riker, he immediately offered him the role of Executive Officer of the ship and team."

"Macen sounds like some mythical messianic character." Jellico groused, "Everyone that meets him takes up his phaser and follows him."

"Not in the case of the next individual." Drake advised, "Radil Jenrya is the other recent addition to the team after being recruited by Rab Daggit in the course of a mission."

The imagery displayed an intense looking Bajoran woman.. She wore her raven tresses in a plaited ponytail down her back . Her hazel eyes radiated a disturbing gleam that granted Radil the essence of the warrior poet of Bajoran myth. She wore the traditional earring of the faith of the Prophets in her right ear as well as sporting several tattoos on the exposed portions of her arms.

"Radil Jenrya was literally born into the Jerrien Resistance cell. When the cell needed capital to purchase weapons, Radil and several others were contracted out as mercenaries in order to acquire those funds. After the Cardassian Occupation of Bajor ended, most of the cell members accepted the Provisional Government's amnesty offer but many who'd been loaned out to other wars did not. Radil served in a number of campaigns across a dozen worlds. Her last contract as a mercenary was to the Orion Syndicate. It was there that Rab Daggit found her and… persuaded her to throw in with Macen's team. Since that time she has proven herself a redoubtable member of the group."

"My god!" Jellico exclaimed, "We're down to recruiting mercenaries now."

Drake ignored Jellico but worried about Ross' apparent discomfort considering who was next on the list, "Next comes the operational systems specialist, T'Kir."

The viewer first displayed a young Vulcan woman with a wild glaze to her eyes. This image shifted to a portrait of a contrasting individual. The frayed, flyaway raven hair had shifted to her current just below the jaw touseled coif that flipped outwards at the end. Her vivid blue eyes now sparkled with intelligence and impish humour instead of lunacy.

"T'Kir was born to the Vulcan colony of Shial located in the DMZ. The colony was founded by a group of Vulcan security agents who lived amongst Romulan defectors. After the destruction of the colony and the death of her family, T'Kir joined the Maquis cell under Ro Laren's command."

"And met Macen of course." Jellico remarked snidely.

Drake ignored him, "Shortly after joining the Maquis, T'Kir began displaying mental instabilities. Macen was one of the few willing to work closely with her and they became partners."

"They are lovers then?" Marrine inquired.

"No." Drake clarified, "Macen was involved with another woman when he and T'Kir met. They became the closest of friends instead. It's been observed that she's the closest thing he has to a family in the Alpha Quadrant, or any other quadrant for that matter. Following the Jem'Hadar purge of the DMZ, T'Kir underwent a total breakdown resulting in a psychotic episode in which she tried to kill Macen. Macen remanded her over to Federation authorities for psychiatric treatment.

Upon receiving the Gulag assignment, Macen decided he needed an Ops officer he could trust implicitly and broke T'Kir out of the Andes Institute. Doing his own research, he discovered that the Vulcans withheld vital information regarding treatments for her condition. T'Kir suffers from an acute condition stemming from an overdeveloped telepathic endowment. This ability can be curbed to manageable levels with a combination of herbal therapies bolstered by mind-melds. Since Macen is empathic by nature, he provides his services as her telepathic focus."

Ross squirmed uncomfortably, "I'm happy to hear the young lady is healthier but does that justify her continuing presence on the team?"

Drake gave him a thin smile, "For starters, Macen would quit if you forced her off the team and secondly, she the best damn cyberengineer anyone has ever seen. She can reprogram a starship in just under an hour to sit up and bark while taking you through a slingshot manoeuvre around the sun and there isn't a blessed thing anyone could do about it."

"No one's that good." Jellico refuted.

"You haven't seen this woman's work. She underwent a three-month crash course to prepare her for the SID. One day between classes she idly reprogrammed the Academy's computers to give everyone top scores and locked the computer out." Drake informed him with a humourless laugh, "It had to be replaced. Some of our best engineers are still trying to unlock that system."

"And you're allowing this woman access to Starfleet systems?" Marrine demanded with a note of panic.

"We couldn't deny her access if we wanted to." Drake replied in resignation, "We might as well 'grant' it to her."

"The final member of the team is their medical specialist, Kort." A typical blustering image of a Klingon appeared on the screen, but the eyes held a haunted quality; "The doctor was recruited after his banishment from the Empire and has proved an invaluable asset to the team."

"He was banished from the Klingon Empire?" Marrine asked, "That is extremely difficult. Can you expand on his crimes?"

"Kort was a member of the Chancellor's House Staff under Gowron.. Specifically, he was assigned to the stables to mind over Gowron's pet _targs_."

"The man's a vet and you have him looking after a covert ops team?" Jellico barely restrained his pique.

"Kort is a battlefield surgeon, which in Klingon culture means he is a warrior and a doctor." Drake fired back with equally restrained intensity, "Kort's original crime was achieving notoriety in the field. Gowron's punishment, disguised as a reward, was to take Kort into his House. Humiliated, Kort swiftly began drowning his sorrows in bloodwine. When Kort was finally called for an actual emergency, he was so drunk he couldn't treat them. Gowron had gone out with his pets to hunt game. Wild _targs_ ambushed Gowron's and they were mortally wounded. Kort passed out while performing surgery and they died. Gowron stripped Kort of all honours and of a name in the Empire. His previous deeds were known to Starfleet Intelligence and an approach was made as soon as Kort crossed the Federation border. Now his only concern is about redeeming his name and serving his comrades' needs."

"I still don't see why we should approve assigning this team to the mission." Jellico proclaimed defensively, "What do they have to offer that the other SID teams lack?"

"They have a commander who has over four hundred years of experience. This experience includes dealing with the Borg, the Cardassians, and the Jem'Hadar. Macen possesses the discretion necessary to maintain the secrecy established by the Sanctuary Protocols. Finally, Macen and his team bring the right blend of skills necessary for the job in addition to an unbroken success record." Drake replied answered with conviction, "And if that isn't enough, there is another factor. Macen's team once had one other member. This woman was a Trill serving in Starfleet. The previous host of the Trill symbiot had known Macen as well and a relationship quickly formed. Volunteering to accompany Macen on his mission to infiltrate the Maquis, she became Macen's aforementioned lover. After the war, she was reunited with Macen for the Gulag mission but left the team, and Starfleet, upon its completion."

"How exactly does this pertain to the matter at hand?" Ross asked in bewilderment.

"Lisea Danan joined the Daystrom Institute upon leaving Starfleet." Drake answered while enjoying Nechayev's smirk; "She was aboard the Daystrom vessel as it came under fire. Presumably, if the crew is still alive, she is to. Although she and Macen are no longer lovers, they are friends, and Macen will move heaven and hell to help a friend."

"This mission is about far more than rescuing one hostage." Jellico sternly reminded her.

"Yes, sir. This mission is primarily about assessing the threat and capabilities of the Nova Romans. Secondly, if the hazard is considered imminent and considerable, neutralising the Roman peril to the Federation is the next goal. The final objective, if permissible, is to rescue any an all Federation citizens held prisoner by the Nova Romans." Drake summarised for the admirals, "This team is, if not more, professional than any mainline service unit. The mission will be pursued as devised without interpretation or deviation. This ends my mission proposal. It's now up to a vote."

Nechayev and Ross immediately voted for Drake's proposed action plan. Jellico voted against almost as swiftly. Marrine hovered for several moments while reviewing pieces of the briefing on her tabletop terminal. Finally the moment of decision came and she voted in the affirmative.

Although disgruntled, Jellico tried to impartially move to the next set of questions; "So what kind of equipment does this team have? What do they employ as their mode of transportation?"

"The SPYards supplied a prototype _Ju'day_-class scoutship to Macen's possession." Drake answered with incorrigible mirth, "In fact, as stipulated in Macen's contract, the ship is now legally his property."


	3. Chapter 3

50

"His contract says what?" Jellico shouted as he bolted upright from his chair and began marching around the table towards Drake, "You gave these lunatics a _starship_?"

"Careful Eddie." Nechayev warned from her seat.

Jellico nearly reached Drake. His imposing frame towering over her. His anger-fuelled intensity bestowed a primeval quality upon his darkened visage. He reached for her arm as he started to speak.

"How _dare_ you hand away Starfleet property… _yurk_!" Jellico's tirade ended as Drake sidestepped his arm while throwing her arm around his, placing her elbow in his nose. Simultaneously, her leg swept his own out from underneath him. Jellico came crashing down without serious injury although his pride would be bruised for some time.

Nechayev broke the silence by breaking into raucous laughter, "I warned you Eddie, she's a tiger."

As Nechayev wiped away her tears, Jellico painfully rose to his feet, "You and your damned proteges. They're a menace."

"At least it wasn't Mackenzie Calhoun this time. You'd still unconscious if it had been" Nechayev sniggered, "You shouldn't feel too bad though. Amanda there served in Starfleet Internal Affairs for twenty years before coming under my desk."

Jellico re-appraised Drake with newfound respect as he retook his seat and she resumed speaking, "Macen needs a ship in order to have freedom of movement while on assignment. He needs ownership of the vessel in order to prove his credibility if someone checks his credentials. While the vessel is clearly of Federation origin, there are no means of tracing it back to Starfleet since the vessel also is a civilian variant of a Starfleet scoutcraft decommissioned fifty years ago. The _Eclipse_ is a prototype built upon a civilian platform of the _Peregrine-_class ."

Jellico sighed as Marrine nodded, "It seems the basic requirements of the mission are met. I would like a more precise accounting of the vessel if it is available."

Drake nodded, "It'll be in your secure in box in the morning."

"That only leaves one unanswered matter." Marrine warned, "When can the team be underway?"

Drake smiled in relief, having expected a trick question; "Macen and T'Kir are returning from a recently completed mission in the DMZ and the Badlands. The rest of the team just picked up their new ship at _Deep Space 9_. The team should reunite around the same time we could transmit the mission details and parameters. After that, it's merely a matter of making sure that ship and crew are ready before departing."

Marrine turned and held Nechayev and Ross' gaze for several seconds before returning her focus on Drake, "Then we should transmit those orders as swiftly as possible."

* * *

Macen decided he hated runabouts like he'd never hated anything before. _Well, excluding the Borg_, he amended. But if the pain in his arse and back didn't let up soon, he was about to check if his chair had been assimilated at during some past Starfleet encounter with the Collective. It could, after all, be some holdover Trojan horse weapon designed to weaken the Federation's defences through relentlessly tormenting those that sat in it.

"Oh, for Element's sake!" T'Kir huffed, "It's just a chair. It's also a helluva lot more comfortable than any seat we had aboard those rustbuckets we flew in the Maquis."

T'Kir's reprimand amused him. A year ago, he'd been the one doing the bulk of the chastising. While their frequent mind-melding sessions had drawn them closer together on levels stemming even beyond their years of shared experience, it was her own maturation that made it possible. She'd reclaimed herself and her status as anyone's equal with a ferocity that would have frightened most.

He studied her as she studied the helm. She'd tucked her recently lightened hair behind her delicately curved ears, granting him an unobstructed view. Her face was a blend of contrasts. Dark brows framed vibrant blue eyes. Her rounded nose balanced by strong cheekbones, bee-stung lips and an angular jaw. By any definition of the word, T'Kir was a beauty.

Her eye flickered in his direction and she looked up at him, "What?"

"Nothing." Macen grinned, "Just observing."

"I thought El-Aurians were supposed to be listeners, not observers." T'Kir quipped.

"You're the one with the ears." Macen replied in kind, "I merely make do as best I can."

"You're a _shiznit_ sometimes, y'know that?" T'Kir retorted.

"I try." Macen smirked, "I really do."

"It's a good thing I love you," T'Kir sighed, "otherwise I'd have to kill you."

That sobered him a bit. Although she'd undergone an epiphany of sorts during the Andergani mission, T'Kir was still completely unpredictable at times. Part of her newfound realisation seemed to revolve around their relationship but he was uncertain as to what conclusion she'd drawn. T'Kir rarely held anything back from him and the mere fact that she clung to this secret made him respect her privacy all the more.

Macen drifted up from his thoughts as he heard T'Kir contacting Barrinor System Control, "Barrinor Control, this is the _SS Corsair_, please advise we are starting an inner system approach and are requesting transit information."

Barrinor sat on the edge of both Federation space and the DMZ. Founded during the same wave of colonisation that seeded most of the Federation, and former Federation, colonies in the area, Barrinor retained strong ties to both without being mired in the conflicts of either. Having never joined the Federation, Barrinor avoided being bartered away in the negotiations creating the DMZ. Both its government and citizens had been ardent supporters of the Maquis as well as the strongest advocates for a negotiated peace.

During the Dominion War, Barrinor founded a defensive alliance with other nearby colonies threatened by the Jem'Hadar forces. Named after the Soummi Sector that their worlds resided within, the Soummi League repulsed several minor invasion attempts. Nestled between the Black and Argolis Clusters, the Soummi Sector was swiftly encircled in the Dominion's initial breakout following the war's launch. The Founder and her Vortas were content to isolate the colonies and await their surrender.

The League threw their efforts into breaking the blockade in order to acquire needed supplies. For every triumph over the Cardassians guarding their borders, there were ten failures that fatally ended. Starfleet's drive to retake _DS9_ caused the Dominion to retreat and Barrinor and her allies were suddenly released from the shackles of _Galor_-class cruisers patrolling their star systems. The League's valiant determination and resistance must have made a mark on the Dominion. Despite the League's proximity to the Breen, they remained unmolested throughout the remaining course of the war.

Following the war, the League worlds began to prosper once again and Barrinor was transformed into the hub of the looseknit alliance. Diplomats and heads of state attended conferences once reserved for the leaders of military and police forces. Retaining its close ties with the Federation, the League received hundreds of colonists every year. Over half the combined population of the League worlds held dual citizenship in the League and the Federation. With travel restrictions between the League members lifted and the barest margin of restrictions placed on Federation visitors, the League worlds discovered the tourist industry.

They'd also discovered the lucrative nature of foreign investment in the infrastructure. All of these elements made the League, and especially Barrinor, the ideal place for Macen's team to establish an operations centre at. Outbound Ventures, Inc purchased an extension off of Barrinor's primary spaceport and constructed an office headquarters next to the ship hangars. The team took up private residences in the adjacent capital city of Morgian and were able to pursue private lives outside of the team and its missions. Barrinor's government welcomed the newcomers with open arms and gave them license to operate within League borders as well.

"Welcome home _Corsair_, your transit data is being transmitted. Be advised, atmospheric conditions over Morgian are less than pristine." The controller informed them.

Macen shrugged at T'Kir, who merely shook her head. Barrinor orbited its primary further out than Earth from Sol. Although squarely within the habitable ranges for most humanoids, it was out of the comfort zone for someone whose race developed on a desert world. As an El-Aurian, Macen enjoyed the cool, damp environment but T'Kir bitterly cursed the frequent rains and occasional snows.

"_Frinx_." T'Kir cursed, "Its raining over the whole subcontinent."

"Sorry." Macen said, at a loss for anything meaningful.

"Don't patronise me bucko." T'Kir snipped, "Or you'll be sleeping on the couch tonight."

"Haven't you forgotten something?" Macen inquired smartly; "I own that house, not you."

"I don't think so." She said huffily, "You promised a place by your side. If you want things to stay that way, and don't want to wake up castrated, you'll listen when I tell you you're in the _sehlat _pen."

"You're in a mood." Macen's tone softened, "What's really bothering you?"

T'Kir sighed, "I'm tired and sore. I don't want to get rained on but most of all, I don't see why we have to go back to working with the others."

Macen nodded then smiled, "You've always played the loner who needs a crowd."

"That's always been weird to me." T'Kir revealed.

"Does it bother you?" he quietly asked.

"Sometimes." She admitted, "People used to terrify me because of what may be in their minds but at the same time I couldn't stand being alone with my own thoughts anymore. Your brainpan was the only that resisted me. I've been in your mind dozens of times and know how you think and feel but I've also hit walls I haven't even dented. That disturbs me."

His expression grew puzzled, "Why?"

"C'mon, we've known each other for years, gone through hell and back, and

I still can't completely read your mind?" T'Kir argued, "This little band of spies you've put together is about as conflicted as a Ferengi at a charity auction. How can I back your plays unless I know what's going on in that thick skull of yours?"

Macen gave her an enigmatic grin, "The same way everyone else does, through trust."

"Trust?" she asked in disbelief.

"Trust." He affirmed, "Stronger than gravity, makes the galaxy go `round."

"And people think I'm nuts." T'Kir muttered under her breath.

* * *

"Up and at `em people." Rab Daggit urged the group lounging about in the recreation centre attached to the back of the Outbound Venture's hangar, "The _Corsair's _in-bound and that means the Captain and T'Kir are coming home."

"About time." Grace commented between dart throws, "I could use some competition."

Her opponent, Tom Riker, looked both amused and insulted, "I think I've done all right."

"Really?" she asked with a bemused smirk.

"Yes." Defensiveness crept into his voice, "Really."

"If you say so." Grace replied as she retrieved the darts from the board. Returning to the throwing mark, she threw all six darts in rapid succession while facing Riker and never looking at the board. She placed six for six in the bullseye. Riker's jaw hung agape.

"That's who the only people who regularly play her are Daggit and T'Kir." Radil laughed, "The rest of us are merely bar tab fodder."

Kort bristled as he rose from the couch adjacent to hers; "This is untrue. I too have tested my mettle against her and come out victorious. She refuses my challenges now."

"It's better than listening to your drunken boasting and advances." Grace muttered with a shiver.

"He's a _frinxing _male, girl." Radil soothed, "And a Klingon to boot. He can't help it if his genitals control his higher brain functions."

Kort growled in reply as the women laughed. Riker's jaw tightened as he tugged at his jacket, "Okay folks, fun time's over. We've had it easy for the last few weeks but let's try and remember that we actually work for a living."

"Too bad." Radil rejoined, "I rather like living like a Terran."

Riker didn't comment. He'd swiftly come to terms with Radil's prejudices concerning most Earth-born and dwelling humans. She felt they sat at the hub of UFP politics and grew rich as the other member worlds presented spoils. It was a radical view and Riker could understand her feelings without endorsing them. He'd seen enough of the elements underlying such opinions to know where they derived from.

"Thank you for your regularly scheduled bout of human bashing." Riker replied with a disarming grin, "But this concludes your broadcast day. Let's all get topside so we can show the Captain his new ship."

The hearty response he received in reply heartened Riker. Although Radil emoted with an equal amount of conviction, something else lingered in her eyes as she passed by him on her way up to the shuttle pad. Hunger filled her eyes. He couldn't be certain what that hunger craved; only that it was barely suppressed.

_Great, just great._ Riker bemoaned mentally, _I hope she's not about to go psycho._

The Outbound Ventures' hangar facility was located underground. Access was gained when the descending craft touched down on a lift elevator pad. The pad would lower into the underground complex while the entrance was sealed by space station grade doors. The hangar facility could accommodate two runabouts or shuttles and one larger vessel with a maximum length of 150 metres. Coming in at 90 metres, the _Eclipse_ comfortably fit within the hangar's confines.

The _Corsair_'s pad had just settled on the floor and the runabout's final landing cycle had just concluded. The forward hatch opened, allowing Macen and T'Kir to disembark with all their gear. The entrance leading to the recreation area and business offices opened and the SID team surged forward. Their collective eagerness warned Macen that something was afoot.

"They either accidentally blew up a planet and want to put us in a good mood or the repairs went poorly and the _Eclipse _is laying around the hangar in pieces." Macen murmured to T'Kir.

She elbowed him in the ribs, "They seem genuinely happy. Tom's a little nervous about something but I can't pick it what from here."

"I guess we'll find out." He sighed in resignation.

Daggit was the first to reach them, "How'd it go, sir? Still in one piece I see."

Macen smirked, "There were moments but we managed somehow."

"It was a lot easier without the rest of you getting in the way." T'Kir teased.

Daggit stiffened but Grace pushed past him to enfold T'Kir in a tight hug, "Shut up you brat. You know you love us as much as we love you."

"Speak for yourself." Kort boomed as he joined the rest, "I merely tolerate all of you."

"Oh, c'mon," T'Kir wheedled, "where's the love?"

"He saves that for himself." Radil remarked dryly as she stepped up, "Late at night in the sonic shower, Kort's all about the love."

Kort's cheeks turned purple as the rest of his teammates laughed. Riker broke the moment, and Kort's humiliation, with a flourishing sweep of arm towards the entrance to the adjacent hangar, "Come milord and milady, your command awaits inspection."

* * *

Lisea Danan sat miserably in her cell. When Syrik had proposed flying so close to the 492 Quarantine Zone, she'd never considered the possibility of the Nova Romans attacking the vessel. Lisea herself had never been privy to knowledge of 492 IV's existence or details surrounding the quarantine but Danan's previous host had. As the current host, Lisea mentally cursed herself for not recognising what the symbiot's half of their mind had tried to warn her of as the legionnaires boarded the ill-fated _SS Countess_.

Her inner reflections ceased as she heard heavy clad footsteps approaching. The Romans still preferred physical barriers to forcefields, so she had to wait until the cell door opened to view her visitor.

The door swung on its hinge to reveal a large man with fair hair and a ruddy complexion. Like all the Romans she'd seen since her capture, this one wore a breastplate made of a combination of duranium and ceramics. He wore a long sleeve burgundy tunic and black gloves. He wore pants of the same colour and black calf-high boots. The boots, as well as his elbows and knees, had duranium guards shielding them.

The still unnamed Roman wore a brown utility belt that carried a particle weapon of some form in a pouch on his left hip. A silver dagger hung from the right side while various pockets with unknown contents bulged from all around. Strapped to his back was a traditional Roman thrusting sword. Danan guessed it to be ceremonial yet a nagging voice kept reminding her that every trooper who'd herded her fellow scientists away to these pocket corners of Hell had worn one as well.

It was his face that surprised her the most. Most of the Romans she'd encountered thus far were stoically aloof. Their emotional armour encasing them more absolutely than their physical armour was capable. She wondered what sort of training or discipline was demanded of these men to demand such a sacrifice.

Her visitor, however, wore an open expression of concern. This alone was startling but even more so that it seemed focused on her. This wasn't the only thing that set the officer apart. Whereas most of the Roman soldiers were swarthy, short and stocky, the officer standing before Lisea was tall, broad shouldered, possessed fair skin, hair and beard, and was thickly muscled. She wondered what produced these differences and what role they would play in the next few minutes.

"You are Starfleet?" he asked in thickly accented Federation Standard.

"No." She replied in English, grateful that previous hosts had also endured Starfleet's mandate that Academy cadets learn the Federation's primary trade and diplomatic language.

"What are you doing here then?" he asked. Lisea heard, "_Vot are you doingg here?_"

"We were surveying regional phenomena." She admitted truthfully, "No one else on my vessel knew of your peoples' existence."

"Why is this?" he asked in genuine surprise.

"After Starfleet's first encounter with you, the government decided it would be better to forgo contact. In order to ensure that your privacy was insured, they never told the civilians or officers they governed."

A glimmer of understanding lit up the legionnaire's eyes, "_Ja_, this is a common story on my world as well."

Danan could almost identify the origin of the soldier's accent. She knew she'd heard something similar in her travels across Earth during her various lifetimes. Of course, over twenty-five hundred years as well as thousands of light years separated the original Earth language and its Nova Roman cousin. There were other, subtler differences between her mysterious visitor and the other legionnaires she'd encountered.

"You're not Roman are you?" seeing the strangely horrified expression on his face, Danan scrambled to smooth over her apparent faux pas, "I mean, it's obvious that you wear the same uniform and perform the same duties, but you're possess different physical characteristics and speak with an accent."

The Roman grinned, "You noticed those differences between me and my legionnaires with the minimum exposure you've had with the crew of this galleon?"

Danan nodded defiantly, causing the Roman to laugh; "Minerva bless you, but I like your spirit already. I'll reward you courage and insight with some answers then."

He bowed without ever removing his eyes from her, "Let me introduce myself, I am Alaric Vandalius, of Germania; Admiral of the Emperor's 1st Star Legion. I have captured you and your fellows for violating the sovereign territory of Magna Romus. You and those captured with you will be returned to the Imperial capital. Once there, the Emperor will have his choice of captives to take as household slaves. The rest will be sorted. Those fit for work will be purchased and taken by their masters to the factories and fields." Alaric's words and been delivered as icily as his blue eyes had become, "Those that cannot work will serve in the games."

"The games?" Danan asked, horrible memories of Kirk's report drifting up from her dual subconscious.

"The gladiatorial arena." Vandalius clarified matter of factly, "Most aliens are sent directly there upon capture. Your decision to face my vessels impressed me, and more importantly, the Emperor. His decision to spare most of your people is based upon his desire to meet you."

"I'm happy to be appreciated." Danan replied half-heartedly.

"You should be." Vandalius assured her, "For Aurelius Romulus now holds your life, and the lives of your crew, in the palm of his hand. You cannot afford to upset him so I would concentrate on learning some manners and appreciation before meeting him."

With that said, Vandalius tapped on the door and exited upon its opening. Danan was left alone in stunned silence as she and her fellow scientists sped ever close to their potential deaths. This time, unlike so many that had come before, Danan saw no hope of rescue or escape. Even if anyone in the Federation realised they were missing, no one knew their captors existed.


	4. Chapter 4

66

The door leading to the second hangar section slid aside, allowing Macen a glimpse of his ship. Occupying the bulk of the cavernous space, resting on landing struts, sat a _Ju'day_-class scoutship. During its prime, the raptor-like vessel had been an uncontested favourite amongst civilian prospectors, smugglers, and surveyors. That day had faded thirty years before and only the Maquis' desperation had brought the class back into the limelight. Ingenuity laced with fatalism patched the ageing vessels back together and sent them forth against impossible odds. The _Eclipse _sat before them as a proud bearer of a distinguished, if occasionally, tarnished record of service.

"Where's Dracas?" Macen asked, "Is she ready for boarding?"

"As of yesterday." Riker assured him. Tapping one of the nondescript octangular comm badges the team wore, Riker opened a channel to Dracas, "Chief, you ready to transport?"

"Whenever." Dracas' gruff voice replied.

"Lock on and take us aboard then." Riker ordered and felt his body begin to transform into energy seconds later.

* * *

Amanda Drake slid into her desk chair with a sigh of relief. Other than Alynna Nechayev, Drake usually found superior officers to be nerve wracking. Jellico held a classification all his own. Drake had never encountered a more arrogant tight-ass in the Admiralty before. Owen Paris might occasionally develop a god complex but at least he always remained approachable.

Nechayev, the dreaded "Ice Queen" of Starfleet, had taken Drake under her wing back when Amanda was a Lieutenant serving as "Ships Archivist" aboard the _USS Icarus_. By that point, the role was a thinly veiled euphemism for Intelligence Officer. She transferred off the _Cheyenne_-class scout directly to Admiral Nechayev's Sector Command HQ located at Starbase 325. Nechayev soon began grooming the talents Drake hid behind a shield of shyness and moulded her into the woman who might well replace her one-day.

As Drake reflected on these and other matters, her doorbell chimed. Ambril Delori knew how tired Amanda was, if her assistant was willing to let someone past her, then her visitor was damn well important. Marshalling her resolve, she ordered the door to admit her waiting caller. Nechayev's rigidly upright frame entered the office with a measured stride, catching Drake by surprise with this unannounced personal appearance.

Drake attempted to hide how flustered she felt as she rose from her chair, "Admiral, I wasn't expecting you."

"Sit down Amanda." Nechayev gently urged.

Nechayev's new demeanour stunned Drake. Alynna had never been anything other than pushy, critical, devious, glacial and arrogant in Drake's experience, _and _those were the nice traits. As Nechayev sat down in the chair across the desk from hers, Amanda noticed something she'd never spotted before: Nechayev was exhausted. Not simply mentally, physically or emotionally tired but suffering from a weariness that ate at the core of her being.

"Admiral, is there anything I can get you?" Drake asked, unused to Nechayev's unabashed display of mortality.

Alynna chuckled, "Had a few illusions undermined, eh?"

"Yes… no!" Drake blurted, "I was just wondering if there was something your doctor could do?"

"There's no medicine or surgery for a guilty conscious." Nechayev replied with a bitter smile, "I suppose I just felt a need to warn you of that seeing as what department I put you in command of. You'll be swimming amongst controversy and second guesses. Your only hope for survival, for sanity, is that once you've made a decision, go with it and never question it. If it turns out to the wrong decision or not the best one, learn but don't let doubts consume."

Drake appreciated the heartfelt intensity of the older woman's words, but wondered as to their necessity, Nechayev gave her another brittle smile, "Amanda, you've been given oversight and responsibility of the most secret branch of Starfleet. On top of this, half of your operatives operate off of an agricultural colony. Generally neither Starfleet Command nor the Federation Defence Ministers have a clue as to the nature of your division's current and ongoing operations. Basically, I've thrown you out on a razor thin wire and can't do much if you slip and fall."

"That certainly made my day." Drake frowned.

"I wish I could have." Nechayev confessed, "I just thought it would be prudent to remind you of what's all at stake."

"Because of 492 IV?" Drake asked, searching out Nechayev's eyes.

"Yes." Nechayev answered tersely but honestly, "This is a problem that's been left around to phaser blast our rear deflector for far too long. No matter what happens next, it will change the fate of two quadrants."

* * *

"So, is she all fixed?" Macen asked while gently tapping a bulkhead in Dracas' domain: Engineering.

"Not only are all the damage and overloads repaired but I also took some time to modify some of the balkier parts of the integrated systems." Dracas came as close to a smile as he ever did; "She should run smoother than the day we got her."

Macen nodded in appreciation of that assessment. What made the venerable looking _Eclipse_ unique amongst her fellow raiders is that although she appeared to date back to the earliest decades of this century, she had been built over the last year and incorporated some of the latest technology. Besides the usual complement of phaser and photon torpedo arrays, the _Eclipse _possessed enhanced shields; phaser pulse cannons mounted in her wingtips, a sensor system and countermeasure suite second to none and a Class 4 cloaking device. Unfortunately, not all of the systems had fluidly integrated upon leaving drydock and the ship had been plagued with minor mechanical difficulties for months.

Macen clapped Dracas on the shoulder, "I knew if anyone could get this bucket of bolts running smoothly, It'd be you Chief."

Dracas gave Macen another half-smile but his eyes glowed from triumph, "Thank you, Cap… Commander." Dracas shook his head, "Sorry, I'm still getting used to the whole title thing."

"Don't mention it." Riker grinned, "I'm still getting used to being called 'Captain'," Riker's grin grew wider, "but I really enjoy it."

Reviewing his history as a starship commander, Macen had been forced to admit a blind, deaf, and retarded _mugatto_ could've done better. Looking for another person to serve as the ship's captain, he started with those he knew. Ro Laren had finally settled into her new life on _DS9_ and Macen didn't want to tear her away from her newfound family there. After that, a very short list was soon exhausted. That was when Macen went looking Tom Riker. Riker had been incredulous at first but once convinced of the offer's authenticity, he'd readily accepted.

The nature of their respective roles was simple. As Mission Commander, Macen was responsible for the overall considerations for the mission, spaceborne and terrestrial. As Captain, Riker was responsible for the _Eclipse's_ daily operations and her crew. Although Macen outranked Riker, he intended to essentially leave all starship operations up to Tom. This contributed to the need to recruit additional members of the crew that would not be part of the Investigative Team.

Macen's reunion with his ship was suddenly interrupted by a request from Outbound Venture's Business Manager to relieve her of the four candidates waiting to be interviewed for positions as ship's crew. Riker had approached thirteen souls with Macen's offer. Riker himself was surprised that as many as four showed up.

Macen and Riker proceeded to the above ground facility that served as Outbound Venture_s_' Corporate HQ. This public face of the company remained the personal fiefdom of Christine Pike. Pike was a former member of Amanda Drake's staff and a relentlessly methodical office manager. Taking a leave of absence from Starfleet to become the SID's liaison with their most prodigal progeny, Pike handled the daily affairs and contract negotiations while also acting as the team's handler.

Thus far, Pike had found her job to be as pleasurable as a disrupter wound. Macen and his bunch were too damned unpredictable for her taste. Macen's latest decision annoyed her most of all. Tom Riker came aboard the Outbound Ventures payroll as ship's captain. Macen had made this decision based upon his mounting tally of ship losses. No matter what his motive was, Pike fumed; a divided chain of command always amounted to a recipe for disaster.

Pike's mental rant was interrupted as the comm screen on her desk warned of an incoming message from Starfleet Command. The screen activated to reveal Amanda Drake herself wearing a grim expression.

"Can we talk?" Drake asked.

"No one is in the building and the anti-surveillance devices are active." Pike answered gravely, "No one is listening."

"Good." Drake's expression lightened up minutely, "Now listen, I have quite a bit of information that must be passed on to Commander Macen. You must stress to him the sensitivity of this information and that he should he regard it as 'Eyes Only' materials."

Drake's eyes bored in through the screen, "That means you as well Christine. If you view this information without authorisation from either myself or Admiral Nechayev, you'll be facing a lengthy stay on Jaros II. I am making myself understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." Pike replied out of shock and ingrained habit.

"Good." Drake sighed, "Be ready to receive transmission in 30 seconds."

Pike activated the necessary systems and inputted the necessary commands, upon completion she looked back at the comm screen; "May I ask a question, ma'am?"

Drake nodded and Pike posed her query, "If I hadn't agreed to your restrictions, what consequences would there have been?"

Pike could see the icy detachment in Drake's expression; "I have a courier ship standing by to deliver the data to Commander Macen and to drop off your replacement."

Pike's mocha skin paled upon hearing that; "Macen has job interviews scheduled for this afternoon. On top of that, he and T'Kir just returned from a mission. How am I going to get him to divert his attention to this data? Pike asked in a resigned tone, "He has to be the most stubborn man in the galaxy."

"I'll agree with you there." Drake confided, "I haven't known anyone so hell bent on his own destruction since my husband."

"You're married?" Pike blurted before she had time to regret wondering it

Drake's cheeks flushed pink, "Yes, _Lieutenant_, I'm married."

Pike knew by Drake's "mistake" of using a rank below her actual grade that was warning her subordinate to mind her curiosity and her tongue., "The matter is completely forgotten."

"Good." Drake grumbled, paused, then shrugged her shoulders; "Tell Macen the data involves one phrase."

"What phrase is that?"

"The _Beagle_ is barking."

Drake's transmission ended before Pike could question her about the origin of the unfamiliar phrase. Of course beagles barked. That was no secret. She sat down in her chair and waited Macen and Riker to arrive. _Strange things are unfolding here. _Pike thought, _And to call something strange amongst this group is _really _saying something._

* * *

The lift door connecting the underground chambers to the office opened with a _whoosh_. Macen shook his head as he and Riker stepped out of the lift.

"What?" a puzzled Riker inquired.

"Nothing." Macen sighed, "You'd just think that being this far out would allow oneself to escape from those doors and the damn sound they make." '

"What sound?" if anything, Riker was more confused now.

"That hissing sound that every automatic door in the Federation makes." Macen explained, ranted really, "You're so culturally programmed to ignore their noise. It doesn't even register on your conscious perception. Your unconscious, however, knows. It knows and it's rebelling. That type of door is going to be the end of the Federation as billions upon billions of sentients rise up and smash their doors. After that release of pent up hostility, they'll destroy every piece of technology around them."

Riker merely stared at Macen in mute silence, after several moments he finally got over his shock enough to speak; "So, they're a bit of a pet peeve?"

"I swear those things were built by a mad genius trying to take over the Federation." Macen muttered, "I did some research on it before the 1st Cardassian War. I never tracked down the culprit responsible for the original plans and test model but I did discover the facility also housed a genetics lab on the opposite side of the station. Two genetically altered and enhanced mice escaped from their cages mere days before the blueprints were mysteriously turned in by a janitor to the Head Engineer and purchased for an undisclosed sum. Afterwards, the janitor and the mice were never seen again."

"You can't be serious." Riker chuckled, then stopped upon seeing Macen's expression; "You _can't_ be serious. That's insane."

"Not any more insane then dealing with some of the beings and situations we encounter every day. And they're blindly accepted as 'sane'." Macen retorted sharply,

"We tolerate despotic rulers butchering their subjects to reduce the population in years of grain shortages. We stand by as two civilisations try to wipe each other out over un-winnable disputes over whose gods are more powerful. We sit back and shake our heads as more powerful forces blockade a planet and then enslave it as the defenders collapse from exhaustion as their pleas for assistance fall on deaf ears. These are absurdities, not being irritated by the sound a door makes."

Riker's response consisted of a blank and measured stare. Macen's indictments struck far closer to home than he wanted to admit. He'd always devotedly believed in the Federation's credos until he found himself an anomaly amongst the average. His faith in the infallibility of the Federation had eroded and finally erased during his stint in a Cardassian labour camp.

"Still," Riker finally offered, "the concept of two mice and a janitor conspiring to take over Earth and then the Federation?"

"I never said two mice and a janitor." Mace n corrected, "I'm fairly certain the janitor was a mechanoid construction allowing the mice to pass as human."

Riker blinked in surprise, "So now we're down to two mice trying to take over the world?"

"Ask me about the Poolquens some time if you want a history lesson on small beings with grand ambitions." Macen suggested.

"Only if you join in our poker night gatherings." Riker counter-offered.

Macen nodded, "Sounds like a fair exchange."

"And bring latinum." Riker suggested with a devilish grin.

"Macen, Riker, about damn time you got here." Pike irritably interrupted.

"And a pleasant hello to you too." Macen replied mirthfully.

"Damn it sir, I don't have time for this." Pike fumed, "Admiral Drake contacted me about an assignment and downloaded 'eyes only' documents for you to examine immediately."

Macen's right eyebrow arched upward, "Really?"

"Please?" Pike implored.

Macen shrugged, "Are you aware of the fact that I've just returned from a three week mission?"

Pike nodded, "Admiral Drake told me to tell you one phrase if you were resistant."

Macen sighed, "And that would be?"

"The beagles are barking."

Macen's face in a mask of solemnity, "Do you mean 'The _Beagle _has barked'?"

"Same thing really." Pike replied defensively, uncomfortable with the deadly seriousness that Macen was studying her with.

"You'd better be damned certain, Christine." Macen said in quiet steely tones, "It could change everything."

Rattled by his reaction and his rare use of her given name, she nodded; "She phrased it exactly the same way you did."

"Damn." Macen whispered vehemently, "Tom, you'll have to conduct the interviews alone. They'll primarily be under your watch anyway so it'll be a good chance for you to establish your authority."

Riker nodded again, "I'll get on it."

As the big man left Macen wheeled on Pike, "Is the data loaded into my office computer here or aboard the _Eclipse_?"

"I thought the _Eclipse_ would afford you greater privacy." Pike explained.

Macen wore a wry grin while shaking his head, "Not while T'Kir's aboard."

* * *

The bridge module of the _Eclipse _had been changed while she was in drydock. Unbeknownst to Starfleet, the alien con artist named Darla would later use a nearly identical design in her _Delta Flyer_ mock up in the Gamma Quadrant. The Command chair sat just forward of the rear bulkhead. On either side were access doors, one leading to the corridor beyond and the other to the Captain's Ready Room.

Sitting just forward of the viewscreen were two stations. To the Captain's left sat the helm. The right station contained the Ops controls. To the captain's right lay the Tactical station. Next to Tactical lay Engineering. Immediately to the Captain's left lay the Mission Specialist Station that was Macen's domain. Forward of his station lay the Science station.

T'Kir was at her post modifying the controls and program pathways to her taste. She heard the access door open and recognised Grace's stride as she approached. Having already glanced over Hannah's board, she new the team's chief pilot had already customised her board. If she knew Hannah, and the woman _was_ her best friend, then she could imagine how badly Grace was chomping at the bit to get out into space and test the _Eclipse's_ mended wings.

T'Kir paused a moment before swivelling her chair to face Grace, "I heard you y'know."

Grace smiled, "Of course you did. I still suspect those ears of yours pick up more than you'll ever let on… except maybe to a certain Brin Macen."

T'Kir started, "What'd make you think that?"

"Oh, come on!" Grace laughed, "I'm your best friend so I should be able to pick up if you're in love with someone."

Seeing T'Kir's shock at this, Grace tried to console her chum; "Hey, it's not that bad. When the rest of the crew starts noticing, then it's time to worry. And when Kort finally realises how you feel, then you know its either time to slap our beloved leader in the face or get the hell outta Dodge."

"Elements!" T'Kir breathed, "Can you imagine a worse matchmaker? You know he'd try to shackle me and throw me at Brin's feet and sing some damned Klingon opera about honour, virtue, and taking your mate with animal strength and a warrior's prowess."

Grace giggled, "Wouldn't he just?"

T'Kir put her hand on Grace's knee, "Thanks for not saying anything to anyone. I have to find my own way to deal with this."

"Why not tell him how you feel?" Grace offered, "It's simple and direct."

"And it may ruin or existing relationship." T'Kir explained, "I don't want to jeopardise that for anything. Not even for…."

T'Kir's mind was suddenly assaulted with images of immense beings of incalculable power and logic. They came from another galaxy to the Milky Way. In order to survive their new environment; they'd been forced to utilise their technology to transform themselves into a native lifeform while keeping their core identity. The lifeform had been human colonists on a distant world.

"T'Kir!" Grace cried out in alarm as she jostled her friend, "Are you all right?"

T'Kir blinked a few times as Grace's features took shape, "I'm here. What happened?"

"You stopped talking." Grace informed her, "You just stared off at nothing for a minute-thirty. I'm calling Kort."

"No!" T'Kir grabbed Grace's arm, "All he'll find is that I'm exhausted. It was gruelling mission. Be glad you weren't along for the ride."

"I am now." Grace admitted, "At first I thought be a cosy opportunity for you and Macen to get to know each other a little more but I can see that chance wasn't any where near the same sector."

"Never once." T'Kir confirmed.

"You sure you're OK?" Grace inquired.

"If you have anything else you'd like to do, do it." T'Kir assured her, "I'm fine, really. I'll have the computer monitor me and if there's another whatever it'll alert Kort."

"You're sure?" Grace sceptically asked.

"Go already." T'Kir pushed Grace out of her station chair.

"I'll check on you later." Grace promised as she walked towards the access door, "And for god's sake, do something about Macen!"

T'Kir waited for the doors to open before turning around. She missed the steely glare thrown over Grace's shoulder. The expression on Hannah's bespoke death of death's arrival. As the doors closed behind her, she fervently prayed to the ancient gods that she wouldn't have to kill T'Kir.

* * *

Macen deactivated the monitor on his desk. Part of the information he'd perused he'd written himself as part of a long ago "theoretical contingency plan". He hadn't liked the conclusions drawn then and he liked them even less now. However, the best choice was to follow their mandates.

He flipped his comm screen on and linked to Pike, "Tell Amanda we'll accept the mission."

"Yessir." She replied crisply, "Any other messages?"

"Tell her to watch out for Alynna's advice." Macen grinned, "It could ruin her career."

"Sir?" Pike asked, confused by his message.

"Just tell her what I said, she'll understand the rest." With that he deactivated the comm. He reclined back into his chair and contemplated what lay before them. The Currents, or what he could still perceive of them, were twisted to and fro. Extrasensory perception would be of little use here, only guile and skill would get them through this.

He activated the intercom, "Chief? You still aboard?"

"I was about to pack it in." Dracas informed him, "What's up?"

"We need to prep for an immediate launch." Macen explained, "I'll get you some help and send them on over. How soon can we be aloft?"

"Depends on how much help I get." Dracas admitted, "She's pretty well prepped for immediate launch now. Worst case scenario would be ninety minutes, best case is thirty."

"I'll expect thirty then. Macen out." He deactivated the intercom before Dracas could reply.

Rising from his chair, Macen headed out into the corridor and headed for the turbolift. Once there, he headed past the brig and armoury. He reached his destination between the _Eclipse's _two primary cargo bays. He descended the ramp leading to the hangar's floor and headed straightaway for the corporate offices. It was time to hire Riker's interviewees and send them straightaway to work.

* * *

Riker stepped into the briefing room set aside for today's interviews and found only three of the four candidates waiting for him. A young Bajoran woman seemed vaguely disappointed that he wasn't someone else. _Probably knows Macen, don't take it personally,_ Tom advised himself. A Bolian male of indeterminate age sat beside her. Their ease around each other suggested a previous history. The sullen human sitting away from the group vaguely reminded Tom of someone but he couldn't place who it was. That merely left the matter of the missing sentient. Heavy footsteps behind him made Tom turn around.

"Where do you think…" The realisation that he speaking into another beings chest stopped Riker cold. He possessed a rather impressive physique supplemented by an equally impressive stature. The grey skinned being standing before him made Riker appears small and harmless.

Ignoring the fact that the alien's exposed upper body rippled with more muscles than he dared think about, Riker stared the alien in the eye and demanded an explanation for his tardiness.

"I'm sorry." Came the surprisingly meek rumbling bass, "But a sentient's gotta go when a sentient's gotta go."

"It's all right this time." Riker asked, "Please take your seat, but if you don't mind me asking, who are you and where are you from? I've never seen anyone else like you."

"Probably never will since I'm a freak amongst my own kind." The giant ended everyone's guessing game when he continued, "Name's Bruis B'nner and I'm an Orion. I just don't look it `cus I'm an albino."

Bruis swept his gaze at everyone in the room as he picked up a duranium model of a _Constitution_-class ship and crushed it in one hand, "And I don't like to be teased about it."


	5. Chapter 5

83

Macen looked forward to a reunion with the various applicants interviewing with Tom Riker. He'd met Sito Jaxa when Ro had recruited her into the Maquis. Her tale of abandonment by Starfleet had struck a resonant chord with her newfound compatriots. Macen had found her eking out a living serving aboard a tramp freighter. It had taken little persuasion to convince her to join up as a crewman aboard the _Eclipse_.

Sito herself had suggested another of the recruits. Nick Lucarno had been her squad leader in Starfleet Academy. The fatal accident that had caused Sito to undergo an extra year at the Academy had also demanded Lucarno's expulsion. That stigma prevented his enlistment during the height of the Dominion War. Macen found him operating a charter flight service out near Sigma Iotia. Like Sito, Lucarno required no coaxing to hire on.

Emjin Thool was a longstanding associate dating back to Thool's days as Ro's chief engineer. He'd fought for the cause until the bitter end. Thool had retired to his native Bolia and never expected to see any of his former comrades again. Macen's message had brought both joy and trepidation. In the end, Thool accepted Macen's offer out of the sedate boredom of a Federation member world that was now totally alien to him.

Bruis B'nner was another matter unto himself. The grey skinned Orion was an anomaly amongst his green skinned race. Seeing the dim view Orions took to mutations, it was a wonder B'nner had survived to adulthood. Most Orion children born with birth defects were slain by the father, the few allowed to live generally perished at the hands of their peers.

B'nner possessed the same stolid physique as his fellow Orions. In fact, he was larger and far heavily muscled than the average "free trader". Macen had met B'nner in the early 60's while helping out a Starfleet Intelligence investigative unit. The Orion Syndicate clan on Sigma Draconis II had begun a territorial dispute in order to make a lunge at expanding their powerbase. B'nner had been a repair tech on the dilapidated K-series station in orbit over Sigma Draconis.

Seizing on the opportunity, B'nner gladly handed over information leading to the clanlord's arrest. Placed under a Federation witness protection program, B'nner soon discovered it was difficult hiding an eight-foot tall, grey-skinned Orion weighing half a metric ton. Just like before his supposed "betrayal" of the Syndicate, Bruis soon faced the occasional assassin that he would swiftly dispatch with aplomb. His childhood having been far more terrifying than anything the Syndicate could throw at him, B'nner was content to stay a lowly technician at whatever spaceport or freighter that would hire him. It had taken a great deal of persuasion for Macen to get B'nner to even consider working for Outbound Ventures.

As Macen neared the briefing room Riker was conducting the interviews in; he began to hear Tom's sales pitch; "So in the course of daily events, you will report directly to me."

"But what about Captain Macen?" Thool asked.

"Haven't you been listening, Bolian?" B'nner rumbled, "Riker here is the ship's captain. Macen serves as an overseer of sorts."

"Ahem," Riker cleared his throat, "Bruis is correct about me being the captain of the _Eclipse_. Commander Macen is her owner and mission commander."

"Not to mention the guy that thumbs our pay credits." Lucarno joked.

Riker chuckled, "Even I can't forget that one. Look, here's the simple breakdown; you folks are the relief crew. You're only ship's crew and not part of the investigative team. While hopefully your duties will be more interesting than if you were on a cargo runner. Personally, I can vouch for the fact my short time with the company has been the most exciting days of my life. That said, you aren't under any obligation to engage in activities extending beyond the hull of the ship."

"So how do we designate authority and why do you refer to Mr. Macen as 'Commander'?" Sito asked

"Only three people aboard hold titles. As Mission Commander, Macen earns a little respect. As captain, you'd better think of me as your new personal deity." Riker waited for the chuckles to die down before resuming; "Chief Dracas gets his for being head of engineering. If you think of me as your god, then Dracas is the devil that can destroy us all. Other than that, Rab Daggit is the Executive Officer but that doesn't really give him any onboard title."

"So it's a pretty informal set-up?" B'nner asked.

"Yep." Riker confirmed.

There was a stretch of silence that Riker finally ended, "So any last questions?"

Silence.

"All right then." Riker grinned, "Whose ready to sign aboard."

Everyone rose at once, giving Macen the opportunity to enter, "Hello folks. I can't tell you how pleased I am that you've agreed to become part of the family. And in case you're worried that you'll be the unwanted bastard stepchildren, you won't be. Being a member of the team means you're a member of the team. And just in time too. I've just accepted a new contract. I hope everyone came packed and prepared for lift-off."

He received a few stunned nods before he turned to Riker; "The others have been notified and are on their way here. I'll give you and the others a briefing once they're aboard and we're aloft"

"Very well." Riker nodded, then turned towards his recruits, "Get your personal effects and meet me here and then I'll take you to the _Eclipse_ and get you stowed away."

* * *

Everyone was bustling about on the crowded bridge of the _Eclipse_. Grace and T'Kir were at their posts prepping for launch. Daggit sat at Tactical checking his systems. Radil sat at the Communications station beside him. Across the bridge, Sito sat at the normally vacant Science station while Lucarno sat at Macen's locked down Mission Control station. B'nner was missing due to the fact none of the stations could accommodate him so he remained in Engineering. Thool chose to spend the launch near the warp reactors in order to get a feel for how they operated.

The Command chair sat against the rear bulkhead with data panels to either side of it. Access door A to the right and behind of the Conn led to the ship's central corridor. Access B on the opposite side led to the Captain's Ready Room. This was modelled after that of an _Intrepid_-class starship. Sitting alongside the Ready Room via the corridor sat Macen's office, which again followed the design set by the _Intrepid_-class' Executive Officer's Office.

The centre seat was unoccupied since Riker was conferring with Macen in the latter's office, "We're almost ready to lift, any destination in particular?"

Macen ignored Riker's joke, "Set course for Sigma 492 as soon as we clear the warp threshold."

"Sigma 492? Isn't that a quarantined system?" Riker asked with concern.

"As I said, I'll brief everyone after we get underway." Macen replied firmly, "Any other questions?"

"Now that you mention it," Riker said with a grin, "what's up with Radil?"

"In what way?"

"She looks different." Riker said.

"She looks the same as she did the day you signed on." Macen countered.

""Yes, but before that." Riker persisted, "She's Bajoran isn't she?"

"Yes." Macen conceded.

"Then why the alterations?" Riker inquired, "What did she have changed and why?"

"She removed a lot of scarring as well as her vestigial bone ridges." Macen informed, "Daggit's recruiting methods bordered on kidnapping. The Orion Syndicate took a dim view of her sudden disappearance. When our very next contract brought her into conflict with both her former employers and the mercenary team she'd served with, she opted for the surgery to remove all identifying marks. Now she'll get a few seconds warning as someone tries to figure out who she is." Macen grinned, "And if you want to know more, I suggest you ask her yourself. Why the sudden curiosity?"

"I saw a picture of the team from before I joined and both she and Chief Dracas looked very different."

"The Chief received physical alteration as part of his mental health therapy."

"What?" Riker went pale; "He's not disturbed is he?"

"No." Macen kept himself from laughing, "But he did hate himself at one time. Now the person that he saw in the mirror is gone and he can function."

"But why?"

"A few months before you signed on, Dracas was captured and held by pirates in the employ of the Andergani. His treatment at their hands was particularly vile and invasive. It took several weeks after that for the emotional damage to reveal itself. Hating himself for his inability to stop his tormentors, Dracas literally mentally froze every time he saw his reflection."

"In order to free him from a lifetime of institutionalisation, Dracas opted for a cosmetic makeover. His once nearly bald pate now has a thick shock of dark, greying hair. His once reedy physique is now medium-build and athletic. Even his vocal chords were altered to allow him to undergo a rebirth that freed him from his ailments."

Macen leaned forward over his desk, "Now this started with Radil. What sparked your curiosity?"

"She gave me a strange look earlier while you were landing." Riker explained.

Still not comprehending the magnitude of the supposed problem, Macen asked; "Strange how?"

"It was sort of a… it was _hungry_ is all I can say." Riker struggled for words.

"Have you ever considered that she might be attracted to you?" Macen suggested, "You have a certain reputation with the ladies and Radil is still a young woman. She might be attracted to you."

"I don't know why she would be." Riker confessed, "I haven't been a ladies' man for some time."

"No, you've seasoned and matured. You've endured hell and bounced back with an amazing resiliency. You're rebellious without being foolish. Added to your natural charisma, humour and charm you comprise a picture Radil could find very alluring."

"Great." Riker sighed, "I don't know how I should handle this. How do you handle it?"

"Handle what?" Macen sounded perplexed.

"You and T'Kir."

A pin could have dropped in the silence that followed until Macen finally cleared his throat and spoke with a strained voice, "T'Kir and I what?"

Riker suddenly that he'd entered a Romulan minefield here, "The fact that T'Kir is in love with you."

Through clenched teeth Macen asked, "And what gives you that idea?"

"Haven't you ever seen the way she looks at you?" Riker had to ask, "It's painfully obvious to anyone that watches you together."

Macen's mind reeled, "We've known each other for nearly a decade. We're friends. Nothing more."

"Are you sure?" Riker asked, "A friend of mine once tested me by asking who the most important person in my life was, the one I would abandon everything for. That person is the person you truly love. Who's your person?"

Macen was surprised and yet startled to discover that T'Kir fit that billet. He loved her but wasn't certain he was _in _love with her. As far as her feelings went, how long had she felt this way? Why hadn't she told him?

"You really didn't know?" Riker asked in mild horror.

Macen slowly shook his head, still distracted; "I had no idea. I suppose I'm the last to know?" Macen asked in mild disgust.

"If they didn't know, they suspected." Riker confirmed, "But I'm sure the newbies haven't figured it out yet."

"Give them five minutes with Hannah and they'll know all." Macen observed bleakly.

Tom spoke again, "So any ideas on how you'll handle the situation?"

Macen shrugged, "I'll tell her my feelings around the situation and she what happens."

"And these feelings are?" Riker fished again.

Macen silently resisted the urge to strangle Riker, "That's a matter between her and I."

"Uh oh." Riker mumbled under his breath.

"What's 'uh oh'?" Macen demanded. Seeing Riker's startled reaction, he added; "There's a reason my race is stereotyped as listeners."

"We've accepted a contract and are setting out on a mission, the particulars still unknown. As I understand it, the last time she became enamoured with you and you rejected her advances, she stabbed you. Can you see why I'd be worried if your answer is, 'No'?"

Macen sighed as he reclined back in his seat. He knew exactly why Tom was worried and so was he. T'Kir's contribution to the team would be pivotal during the mission. Maybe he ought to wait and discuss the matter with her until after they finished their contract.

"All right." Macen conceded, "I'll wait until we're back in friendly territory before bringing the matter up with her."

"Thank god." Riker's head lolled forward as he relaxed his tense shoulders, after rolling his head he rose; "I have to get back to the bridge. Are you sure you don't want to join us?"

Macen shook his head, "Too much work besides the fact the newbies need the experience more than I do."

"See you at the briefing then." Riker nodded and departed.

_She loves me_, Macen mused, _I never thought I'd hear those words again. I wish I knew exactly how that made me feel. It's such a jumbled mess I don't know where to begin. Maybe I don't want to know._

* * *

The Roman commander's cruiser landed before the Imperial Residence. The private pad there rarely entertained any craft but those of the household. The Praetorian Guard maintained their ever-vigilant presence, but no other military units had stepped foot on these grounds for almost a century. Alaric Germanicus knew this display meant Aurelius Romulus was both pleased and eager to inspect his booty.

The Roman cruiser resembled a giant bird. The length and breadth ship came in at 180 metres, the width provided by two extensions moulded to resemble wings. The forward module was sleek like a raptor's lines and mounted a variable dispersal photon torpedo launcher. In combat, the ship displayed the might of the Roman Eagle.

As the 1st Admiral of the Star Legions, Alaric also knew that the Roman cruisers were not entirely the result of Roman efforts. Engineers had poured over the wreckage of Merrick's ill-fated _SS Beagle_. The Proconsul utilised this opportunity to be named Emperor of Magna Roma and Dictator of Gaia. Seizing upon the mobs' newfound fear of alien invasion, a program designed to create starships was born.

Fifty years afterwards, the first warp capable craft departed Nova Roma's atmosphere. It was little more than a cockpit mounted atop a warp engine. If Zephrim Cochrane's warp flight could be heralded as the birth of the Federation, so too could this flight be labelled as the birth of a darker alliance. Alaric stood amongst an elite cadre of peers, living at least, that knew of the Emperor's allies in this quest for the stars.

Shortly after the _Gladiator's _historic flight, Emperor Doric Romulus received a midnight visitation from two cloaked strangers offering technology to enhance the Roman's starship achievements. Doric scoffed at that and his hooded"guests" merely chuckled.

_We shall see_, they informed him in sibilant tones. The following day, the project managers overseeing the _Gladiator's _next launch discovered several changes to their design. Once launched she tripled her speed and ran more smoothly.

The next night, Doric's visitors returned. Still swathed in the dark robes, the two revealed themselves as ambassadors from a powerful and ancient power that wished to establish relations with emerging races in this part of the galaxy. Promised autonomy and technology transfers in exchange for aiding their benefactors if the latter were at war. Doric readily agreed.

The two visitors stayed on as "students of Roman life and advisors regarding stellar knowledge". Five years had passed since Doric had refused to officially acknowledge one of his alien advisors. The next morning the Emperor was found dead of a previously unknown, and never seen again, virulent infection. Aurelius Romulus rose to power with full knowledge of who smoothed and assured his ascension to power. He also knew the price of his throne.

That price bore the name Ezixiem. No one knew what lay beneath his intertwined layers of black cloth, or under his metal gauntlets and boots. When asked his place of origin, he (she?) merely replied with one word: Omicron. No one knew if humanoids, saurians, or energy beings dwelt there. In fact, no one recalled having heard of it before. This fact seemed to anger Ezixiem, who acted as though the name should have been on the tip of every tongue.

The sight of the mysteriously clad stranger looming over the rather diminutive Emperor was unsettling to senior military officers as well as the Senators that now had to deal with their unexpected "observer". The explanation given the mob was that Ezixiem was a badly burned commander from the millennia long border war with Germania and her allies.

The crowds cheered at the Emperor's compassion and the devotion to his legionnaires. With the Omicrons' help the Romans constructed the twenty-five vessels serving the Roman Star Legion. These vessels were to be the first of many soaring the atmosphere of their enemies.

Unfortunately, Alaric knew the Omicrons had completed most of the construction. The ship was a biomechanical wonder and a terror at the same time. The bioneural interfaces between computer systems amazed the Roman engineers. The charging systems could absorb stellar winds to replenish phaser banks in half the time Starfleet vessels could. The ships also came equipped with a biomemetic fluid spread between the inner and outer hull. If damaged, the biomemetic cells formed a sealing "scab" over a hull breach. The ships' distinctive green hue resulted from a thin veneer of the biomemetic gel.

Alaric could easily attest to the cruisers' capability. Dubbed the _Eagle_-class, the fleet had already proven itself against a half-dozen incursions of Magna Roman space. The ultimate victory had been the co-ordinated destruction of the accursed surveillance devices the Federation had placed around Sigma 492 IV. The real glory went to Alaric and his crew aboard the _Javelin_ for not only planning and executing the Roman liberation from the Federation yoke, but for capturing Federation spies at the same time. This singular event earned Alaric and his ship landing privileges at the Imperial Residence.

No sooner had Alaric's troops aligned their prisoners than the Praetorians snapped to attention. The door from the residence to the landing pad opened, revealing the youthful Emperor. Aurelius Romulus strode forward, eager to congratulate Alaric and to inspect the prisoners. Behind him came the Consul and Chief Legate of the Senate. The Consul led the Senate's proceedings and decided which motions would carry on to committee meetings. The Chief Legate was responsible for maintaining civil order across the vast Empire including the suppression of dissident faction and self-proclaimed "freedom fighters". The ever-hooded Ezixiem was the last to step out of the palace's shadows

"Come, see what my greatest Admiral has brought me!" Aurelius shouted to his advisors, "He has given us safety in the heavens and brought us crippled angels so we might know what their masters think of us."

Alaric silently cringed at his Emperor's words. Although the young man fancied himself a poet of some talent, Alaric wished he could send the boy to Gaul in order for him to hear real poetry. As things stood now, he merely endured the half-wit's inane chatter. _Soon enough_, Alaric thought with a satisfaction that didn't register on his face, _I'll have all the Legions behind me and then this fool will be dethroned._

Aurelius was pacing furiously up and down the line of prisoners. Occasionally, he would stop and speak with one. Ezixiem slid up beside Alaric. The Admiral's skin crawled as it did every time he stood in the presence of the unseen wraith. Alaric's attention had been diverted for a moment and now Aurelius had discovered Lisea Danan.

Alaric silently cursed as Ezixiem slid away. _Bastard! He distracted me on purpose…but why?_

Alaric held his breath as Aurelius began questioning Danan, "And where are you from my Spotted Lily?"

Danan started to reply but saw the grave concern in Germanicus' eyes, "Trill, milord."

"Trill?" Aurelius mused aloud, "I've never heard of it, but than again, your Federation has done its best to keep us uninformed."

A subtle shake of Alaric's head warned her off on this topic as well, "We've been just as ignorant of you, much to my current dismay."

"Don't fret, milady, you're safe now." Aurelius cooed, "Guards, I'll be taking this prisoner. Take her to the slaves' quarter and have the Matron of the House assign her quarters."

Alaric held his breath as two Praetorians stepped forward to herd Danan into the palace. Although the Trill looked like a human with enlarged freckles running down her temples and neck under her collar. Her eyes betrayed the youthful visage she wore. Her eyes held an ocean of time within them.

Germanicus breathed a sigh of relief as Danan passively accepted the guards' instructions and let them lead her into the palace. it was at this moment Aurelius declared; "Take these others to the Star Legion Command and let the interrogators have their with them. Those that refuse to co-operate will be sent to the games."

As a German, Alaric hated the games. As a Roman officer, he understood the necessity for the execution of enemies of the state and subversives. As the bulk of Germania above the Rhine still opposed Roman rule, the fighting there had endured for two thousand years. As the Roman Empire had expanded across the globe they met more enemies.

The Free Gauls, or Celts, in Eire and Scotsland still resisted the Roman yoke. Viking raiders, or Northmen, terrified Roman coastal settlements throughout the European and Asia Minor coastlines. The Han Empire of Chung Kao held sway over the entire Asian continent and the islands of the South Pacific providing Rome with her greatest challenge. Both empires had footholds in the uninhabited New World. Rome chose to colonise the North and Chung Kao the South.

Alaric had faced the Han and the Gauls before receiving command of the Star Legion. His record was spotless, but that offered little protection from the Emperor's increasingly erratic whims. Many had said that Aurelius was too sensitive as well as too young for the duties of Emperor. Alaric had never given much credence to the grumbling until he saw his Emperor dancing to the strings of an alien puppet master.

The boy emperor possessed the gawky lean frame of late adolescence. His raven hair curled around his face. Rumour had it the Emperor chafed under more than his duties. His closet was said to have more gowns than the entire collection of the Household courtesans who sat idly by and pleasured the occasional Praetorian or the favoured guest.

Alaric studied his Emperor's face as he beamed at Germanicus. The boy's nose was a little too large, his eyes too squinty, and his teeth too rodent-like. The Emperor's vanity demanded they cover his face with a computer-generated image during his weekly address to the empire. Ezixiem had been far too pleased to provide the technical toys required for this feat.

"Excellent work Admiral." Aurelius practically glowed with pleasure, "How can I reward you?"

Alaric mulled it over. He had no material wants. The only needs he had were for his troops. His troops and the mysterious alien beauty that had enchanted him. Of course, Ezixiem's demise would work just as well.

"Really Germanicus," Aurelius urged, "there must be something."

Alaric slowly nodded, "Two things."

"Well then, what are they?" Aurelius was beginning to lose his patience.

"I want celebrations for my men. The cruiser patrols can be rotated to allow a third of my crews to feast, a third on home system defence and the last third on outer patrol."

"If you hadn't suggested it, I would have." Aurelius crowed, "And now, for that second matter?"

"The alien prisoner you just selected," Alaric tread lightly on this topic, "if it pleases you, give her duties in the kitchen or anywhere else but do not make her a concubine."

"You fancy her?" Aurelius asked slyly.

"I respect her." Alaric corrected, "I've read her eyes, her will is unbreakable. She would kill whomever chose to take from her that which she alone can give."

"Very poetic Admiral." Aurelius, "Don't fret, I already have a plan. She will tutor my niece and my youngest sister. You don't think she'll kill children do you?

"No milord." Alaric replied with great relief.

"Good." Aurelius mused, "My great-grandfather's notes on this Federation is that they are peace-seeking cretins that will avoid bloodshed at any cost."

"He also listed an exception to that rule." Alaric reminded him, "The enforcement arm of the Federation."

"Yes… Starfleet." Aurelius gave Alaric a feral smile, "This time we're prepared for them, don't you think?

"Without a doubt." Alaric answered with genuine conviction.

"Let them come then and we shall rattle them to their very fibre." Aurelius said.

It was at that moment Alaric knew the Romans were going to war.


	6. Chapter 6

97

Macen briefed Riker separately from the Investigative team in order to allow him time to observe the new recruits at their stations and to change uniforms. The ship's crew now wore the tan surface fatigues worn by Starfleet personnel from the 2270-2340s. A variant black mock turtleneck with matching boots and belt replaced the original white turtleneck undershirt. B'nner wore a sleeveless vest of his own devising. The Investigative team, excluding Riker, wore the Officer's moss-green version of the same uniform along with their standard utility belts and holsters.

When the Investigative team heard the shocking news, they were disquieted but remained level headed. "Our first priority is the assessment of the Nova Roman capabilities. Secondly, we're to uncover any potential alien intervention. Thirdly, we're to neutralise any such intervention. And last but probably least, rescue any hostages held by the Romans."

Macen sighed and sunk into his seat, "Any questions?"

"How are we supposed to come out alive?" Dracas asked dryly.

"I know this is a challenge." Macen started to concede before being cut off.

"This is a job for a Starfleet starship." Radil grumbled, "Why aren't they handling it personally?"

"If you'd have paid attention earlier," Macen replied snidely, "You'd know that Starfleet doesn't even know this planet exists. We're expendable, so we can go in without the risk of locking permanently locking up valuable officers and specialists. For the Federation Security Council, it's a winner takes all scenario."

"And before anyone starts complaining about your assigned duties… Forget it. The duty roster stands. Dracas, Daggit, and T'Kir are part of my landing party. Grace, Daggit and Kort will remain aboard the ship. Tom will need veterans aboard to assist the ship's crew so don't even start complaining. That goes especially for you Radil."

Daggit shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Sir, as team XO, I should…"

"…lead the away missions and hazardous duty contacts." Macen finished for him, "The only problem is that's Starfleet regulation and we're not Starfleet. This is my ship and I can do damn well whatever I please."

Daggit settled his enhanced bulk further into his seat as he bitterly digested Macen's decision. Rab had only just started becoming so insistent about protecting Macen. It made Macen wonder what Daggit knew that he didn't. He might have to hold Daggit after the briefing and find out the reason.

"We've overcome greater odds with less material and technical support." Macen reminded them, "We'll come back alive… or at least a reasonable facsimile of it."

"Now if no one else has any other items to raise, we'll dismiss from here so you can each greedily grab one of the padds on the table and succinctly breakdown each facet of the mission and the Nova Roman society in particular."

As the team members filed out, Macen softly called out, "Rab, could stay for a moment?"

"Of course." Daggit replied, slipping into the stance his native military called, "at ease".

"Relax." Macen admonished his teammate; "I just want to ask you a question."

"Well, two actually." Macen amended as Daggit retook his seat.

"I never touched her, before or after the surgery." Daggit said immediately.

"Who, what? Macen stumbled a bit, "You never touched whom?"

"Radil." Daggit confessed tightly, "I once asked her out to dinner during a shore leave. She turned me down. That was the end of things."

"Then why did you assume that's what I wanted to discuss with you?"

"Thought she might've complained. She's been very vocal lately." Daggit surmised.

"My questions don't involve either you or Radil, but they do potentially effect the whole team." Macen warned him.

"Is this about you and T'Kir?" Daggit winced, "Because we pretty much know about you two."

"Know what?" Macen yelped, "Everyone seems to know more about the alleged 'us' than we do."

Daggit looked wretchedly discomfited, "I didn't know."

"It's alright. Neither did I." Macen grumbled bitterly, "Is this why you've been playing mother _sehlat_ around me."

"Possibly sir." Daggit demurred.

"Don't 'sir' me, just answer the damn question." Macen growled.

Daggit heaved a sigh; "I'd like to see you live long enough to _have_ another relationship."

Macen slumped in his chair, "I didn't realise my lack of romance was straining everyone."

"I seem to be the only one who's concerned. Grace is rooting for T'Kir's unannounced dreams to come true, Kort says, and I quote, 'you should simply break her, take her, and dump her' end quote." Daggit shook his head, "Nice, isn't he? Dracas is too busy building bombs to care and Radil is too busy ranting about humans to distract herself from the fact she now appears human and has her eye on Captain Riker."

"Radil?" Macen asked in surprise, "Who would have thought? Where was I?"

"The DMZ as I recall." Daggit replied dryly.

"Touché." Macen bowed his head.

"I'm surprised she didn't mention something to you then." Daggit admitted.

Macen shook his head; "I'm not. We were too distracted by the missing Maquis arms caches to spend a lot of time in reflection or interpersonal discussions. It didn't help that we were losing the chase throughout the entire ordeal."

"What chase?"

"Our initial scans revealed that the arms and ships were removed just before our arrival." Macen explained, "Most had been taken days before but two of them had been raided mere hours before we investigated the various hiding places."

"Any clues as to who's behind this?"

Macen frowned as he shook his head again, "None. We used every sensor the _Corsair_ has looking for warp or impulse trails and exhausted our tricorders' battery packs scanning the actual sites. It was as if a massive hand had just picked everything up and put it down elsewhere."

Daggit began to worry. Macen wasn't known for his hyperbole. If the only evidence left behind evoked comparisons to some god-like manifestation, Daggit would believe it. The situation still begged one question.

"Who'd have motive for taking those weapons?"

"Lots of people I suppose." Macen replied, "There are thousands of former Maquis and DMZ settlers that suffered under the Dominion's hands during the war. It probably wouldn't take much to convince some downtrodden colonist to strike back at the closest and weakest link of the Dominion's forces."

"Cardassia." Daggit drew the obvious conclusion.

"Although their turning sides at last minute hastened the end of the war, they spent most of it as an ally of the Founders. With the Jem'Hadar recapturing most of the worlds the Maquis had pushed the Cardassians out of, most of the settlers there worked at slave labour camps." Macen elaborated "The Maquis sabotaged the war effort as best they could while enduring massive losses. Starfleet's decision to by-pass the DMZ in its drive for Cardassia Prime was seen as a greater insult than the original formation of the Zone. The Federation's assurances to the Cardassian interim government that the Zone will remain intact may have been the final straw for the militant and moderate Maquis alike."

"I don't blame them." Daggit replied solemnly.

Macen could empathise with the Angosians pain. He'd been recruited by his home planet to undergo a mental and physical program intended to create super-soldiers designed to end Angosia's war with Tarsus. Daggit and his fellow soldiers achieved victory but once returned to their native populace, they could not shut down their quick, and often lethal, reactions to seemingly routine tasks and situations. All of the surviving enhanced soldiers were rounded up and locked away in a lunar prison.

That imprisonment cost Angosia its bid for Federation membership. That was until the Federation wanted those same enhanced soldiers. In exchange for aiding Starfleet, Angosia would receive their coveted membership. The soldiers were promised an end to their uncontrollable psychosomatic responses to threatening stimuli. Daggit had served with Macen during the Dominion and had sought out SID membership in order to serve under him again. Unlike the Starfleet commandos that quivered when Daggit and his fellows entered a room, Macen accepted Daggit just the way we was.

Rab also knew that Macen was pressing Starfleet for the promised cure. Having served Starfleet for eighty years Macen had quite a bit of clout and personal markers at his disposal. Daggit knew Macen would never willingly abandon one of his teammates. That was the one sure reason Daggit trusted Macen with his life.

"So," Daggit broke the silence, "this one will be rough?"

"The hardest we've ever attempted." Macen revealed, "But I think we'll be fine. I wouldn't have accepted the contract otherwise."

And that was enough for Daggit.

* * *

Lisea gazed about the quarters she'd been taken to. She'd already tried to leave only to find it predictably locked up. She then turned her attention to the obligatory surveillance devices. After discovering eleven devices, two of which were obvious decoys, she gave up. From this point on, they'd earned the right to spy on her.

Her Roman observers were impressed. None of their other charges had so deftly eliminated all but one surveillance device, and it was the one they understood the least. This device had been a gift to Aurelius Romulus from Ezixiel. It moved about the room but was never seen.

Next, Danan carefully inventoried her assigned clothing. She found simple tunics and pants in earthy tones. Her sandals were simple and functional. Nothing here resembled the quarters of a Cardassian "comfort" woman.

She slipped out of her soiled and torn uniform. Her observers ogled as they discovered how much a Trill's spots covered. Danan eased herself into her bath and let the hot water ease her troubles. Tomorrow, she was told, she'd learn her new duties. Time enough then to spend the next few hours recuperating before planning her escape.

* * *

It took the _Eclipse _three days to reach Starfleet's designated border for the Roman territories. Debris from the various sensor drones could be found floating about every surrounding system. For the Romans to have destroyed every Federation drone encompassing that border was nothing short of a logistical miracle or evidence of undreamed of technical sophistication on the Romans' part. It was cause enough to stop and assess the situation.

"Anything on sensors?" Riker asked from the centre seat, "Any clue as to how many ships passed this way."

T'Kir double-checked her sensors, "By the plasma decay rate, I'd say three ships came through here almost a week ago and opened up with everything they had."

Riker looked towards Macen, who was reviewing the same data. Macen nodded assent to Riker, who swivelled his chair slightly to the right as he issued his next order, "Tactical, cloak the ship. Helm, lay in a course for Sigma 492 IV and execute it."

Grace and Radil carried out their respective orders and the _Eclipse_ became the first Federation vessel to willingly penetrate Magna Roma's territory in over a century

It would take nearly another three hours to reach Sigma 492's system. In the interim, Dracas was schooling his two techs on the _Eclipse's_ eccentricities. Daggit focused on familiarising Sito with the tactical systems while Lucarno focused on learning the helm.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, my liege?" Germanicus knocked his arm over his chest as he came before the Imperial Throne. He did not bow, as most Imperial citizens were wont to do. The Admiral's victories had earned him a special dispensation. It cleared Germanicus of genuflecting Romulus in either of his roles: Emperor and Chief Priest of Magna Roma.

A century before when Jim Kirk and his landing party encountered the Nova Romans; their religious ideologies had just introduced their analogue to Earth's Christian movement. Where the might of Rome struggled against the Grace of Christ for over three centuries, Nova Roma embraced the new doctrine, if only to tame the messengers and modify the message. Barely a century later, the so-called Son of God merely stood alongside a pantheon of other gods. What took two thousand years on Earth had occurred within one hundred on Magna Roma.

"Come, Alaric," Romulus rose and stretched forth his head, "let us walk as we discuss pressing matters of state."

Germanicus' mind cried out "Red Alert" and his mental shields went up. Before Doric's death, Alaric had been a Court favourite and a frequent guest of the Emperor. He'd become a mentor to the Imperial Heir before the latter even lost his virginity to one of the courtesans. All of this had changed with Doric's untimely death and Ezexiem's rise to power and influence.

Alaric's role as mentor had ended with the Omricon's ascent to Chief Advisor. Point in fact, while Alaric had been appointed commander of the newly constructed Star Legions, he had been removed from the inner circle of Imperial favourites that shaped Roman life. The Roman Senate had been removed, in all but name, as well. Complaints were filed, petitions raised, decrees issued but the daily business of rubber stamping the Emperor's latest legislation continued unabated.

Alaric suspected Aurelius' growing distance stemmed from Ezexiel. The alien made no effort of hiding that he knew Germanicus detested him. Although Alaric made no moves to publicly denounce the Omricon representative, he'd levied enough complaints to his friends to persuade many of them of a duplicity within Ezexiel's motives and actions. Alaric's own posting as Admiral of the Star Legions placed him almost directly under Ezexiel's authority.

Despite the Roman constitution's proscribing non-citizens from military command, Ezexiel had suborned the Star Legions by placing them under his Advisory Commission on Foreign Stellar Nations. Since the Star Legions would be the first to fly the Roman eagle before aliens, they needed to be controlled by the very department created to facilitate such scenes. To Alaric it stank of removing the authority from its rightful wielder, the Emperor, and handing it over to the parasitic fob who now plagued Roman life. The longer things progressed, the more certain Alaric was of Doric's death at Omicron hands only he had no proof and proof was everything in the Roman courts.

"Certainly, your Excellence." Alaric half-bowed, "Might I make a suggestion?"

Aurelius look momentarily puzzled, then with a slight smile nodded his assent, "Speak your mind."

"Let us walk together as we did in days past." Alaric implored, "Let us walk as old friends, alone save your private guard. Let us discuss these pressing matters as men and not as a roving committee."

Ezexiel drew in a sharp breath of disapproval but Aurelius beamed with delight, "Excellent idea! It's been far too long since I talked with you, my oldest and dearest friend. Come with me, I know the perfect venue."

Aurelius stepped forward and Ezexiel moved to follow prompting the young emperor to turn on his heels, "What is it my Counsellor? Did you not hear me, or have you merely failed to understand? This evening is devoted to Germanicus, not to Omicron and all its fabled power. I choose to spend time with my neglected friend. Go skulk away into shadow as you do so well."

Alaric's heart swelled with pride at his former charge's words. Seeing the barely constrained wrath contorting Ezexiel's features, he also feared for his Emperor's life. Doric's last words had been ones of defiance to the aliens' faces. Judging from that, Aurelius may have just placed his life in his own hands.

"Sire, I'm concerned for your safety. Perhaps humiliating Ezexiel isn't the wisest course of action. Consider your father…" Alaric urged.

"I am far more cognisant of my father's fate than you shall ever be Admiral!" Aurelius snapped, "I at least know when to hold my tongue. Even these walls are privy to secrets best kept secret."

The mere knowledge that his former student recognised Ezexiel's fawning overt manipulations as well as his more insidious attempts was enough to warm the cockles of Germanicus' heart. If his emperor saw the evil, then he must also be developing a plan to thwart it. Good old-fashioned Roman discipline would serve here. Just as it had withstood every other test.

* * *

After several tense, but thankfully uneventful hours, the _Eclipse_ entered into a high polar orbit over Nova Roma. Macen, T'Kir, Radil, Daggit and Dracas each began studying the Romans from the perspective of their individual specialities. Macen studied the social-political arenas, T'Kir, the information systems and infrastructure, Radil listened for the developmental shift from the common Latin origins of the language and adjusted the universal translators accordingly. Dracas deciphered architectural designs and industrial capacity while Daggit sought targets and evaluated potential enemies.

The rest of the crew kept the ship running and watched the skies around them, trying to remain unseen. After a day's work, the team met together as a group; Including Riker, who'd left Lucarno in command.

"As best as can be determined, captured aliens are brought before the Nova Roman Emperor. At this point, they are divided into three categories: slaves for the Imperial Household, private slaves for auction, and fodder for the gladiatorial pits. This means our missing scientists are already scattered across the Empire or dead. We need to focus our efforts on accessing their data networks, assessing their technology compared to the Richter Scale, and how they achieved their current level. Based upon those determinations, the big question becomes what is their intention towards the Federation, and if it's hostile, what's their military capability?" Macen summed up, "As stated in our first briefing, I'll be leading a survey team comprised of Daggit, T'Kir and Dracas. No complaints will be heard and all protests can be shoved out an airlock. All team members will follow Radil to Stores to pick up the closest approximation she could whip up of native dress for our chosen landing sight."

"Where is that sight?" Riker asked.

"Their analogue of Marseilles." Macen replied immediately, "It's close enough to the capital to be privy to the latest gossip while being a port city and therefore used to strangers asking questions."

Riker glanced at the padd containing Macen's findings, "And their capital is named 'Magna Roma' and sits where Paris does on Earth?"

Macen shrugged, "An all too likely event if the Romans hadn't begun to rely so heavily on German conscripts and mercenaries. The during the Roman Empire's last few centuries, Roman Provinces provided the width and depth of service and culture that the Romans no longer seemed capable of providing. They forged an Empire but leadership soon passed to the conquered lands that became more Roman than the Romans themselves. While the Provincials strove to reshape the world in the Roman mould as they had been, the Romans sought to physically emulate the very Germanic tribes that would soon breach the Eternal City."

"Stop." Radil demanded, "No more. I already don't like looking human. I don't want to go around spouting their history too."

"But the burial of the Vandal leader, Alaric, is fascinating." Macen interjected, "His clansmen diverted a river, buried him, then redirected the river back to its original course. All so no one would ever be able to defile their greatest leader's remains."

"And why the hell would I need to know that?" Radil asked crankily, "Are we starting a mission or what?"

"As soon as your ready." Macen demurred.

"Prophets and Wraiths!" Radil swore, "I'd have been ready a lot sooner of you hadn't been giving a lecture in ancient Earth history."

"It could come in handy." Macen opined as they proceeded down the corridor.

"Like when?" she snapped as the turbolift doors closed.

"Like a timewarp." Macen rebutted, "Slingshot around the sun or any number of anomalies to yet be explained. You could suddenly find yourself in Roman times."

"For the lovva…" Radil growled as they exited the lift, "That's the biggest load of crap I've heard since…"

"The two-week notice clause on your contract with the Orion Syndicate?" Daggit offered.

"Hey friend," she whirled to face him, "this face is your doing. If you hadn't kidnapped me, I'd still look Bajoran."

"If you'd wanted to go back, you would have done so when given the opportunity." Daggit countered, "So spare us your whining."

Radil shot him an angry glare but remained silent. Instead she pulled out a bundle of clothes and handed it to each person. Following that, she handed everyone a modified utility belt/holster designed to conceal their weapons. Everyone took turns using the common head for Deck 3 to change clothes.

When they were all done, they each wore a variety of leathers, woollens, and synthetics. They wore a variety of coats, vests, and cloaks. T'Kir especially required the use her cloak's hood. All in all, the desired effect was achieved.

Stepping over to the transporter, Radil's features softened, "I'm sorry. I get really edgy before an op."

"No harm no foul." Daggit assured her before anyone else could speak.

Macen mirthfully eyed his Tactical Specialist; "You have the co-ordinates Jenrya?"

"Yessir." She replied.

"Then energise."

"Walk with the Prophets." Radil whispered as her teammates dematerialised.


	7. Chapter 7

112

The survey party materialised in a deserted alley adjacent to a main thoroughfare. Upon joining the street, they encountered their first glimpse of Roman life. Mechanised transports dominated central lanes skirted on either side by pedestrians. Thruster driven aerial vehicles and magnetically suspended ground units seemed to be the exclusive domain of military vehicles. Each proudly bore the Roman eagle and the mark of the Legion.

"Interesting." Daggit remarked, "By regulating the use of technologies, they've already segmented their society by giving a clear advantage to a certain portion."

"How nice for them." Dracas mumbled.

"Tactically, it's no wonder the dissenting broadcasts we caught rarely mention any significant headway against their foes. They have no means to compete with technology kept restricted from even the Roman citizenry."

"Sucks for them." T'Kir observed, "But how's that compute into our mission?"

"As a former Maquis, I'm surprised at your indifference." Daggit remarked, "If the Romans prove a threat, then the various rebels opposing them will prove an invaluable asset."

"_That's _why I'm indifferent." T'Kir snapped, "You don't see these peoples' causes, you just see a means to an end."

Daggit opened his mouth but Macen spoke before him, "Remember the mission people. We can settle any differences in interpretation later."

With that matter settled, or at least postponed, the quartet moved further along the highways and byways of Marseilles. As they walked along, military units passed by on a regular basis. The citizens frequently glared at the passing vehicles but did nothing to provoke the operators within. The Roman Imperium enjoyed peace but it was the peace of the sword.

Dracas pointed at a public terminal, "I think we can access the main data nets from there."

Dracas' prediction proved correct. The booth required payment in the local coin but T'Kir swiftly moved around that. The system was designed to allow free access to the military and the noble classes. After three minutes work, T'Kir deduced the necessary codes and entered the mainframe.

"Where do we want to go?" T'Kir asked.

* * *

"So you'll be travelling to this Magna Roma?" Riker asked. He was taking Macen's update from his Ready Room.

"Yes." Macen 's voice confirmed, "The Romans live under a highly centralised bureaucracy. If any of the Federation citizens survived, the bulk of them would have found themselves slaves in the households the nobility maintain in the capital."

"Or in the arena." Riker grimly reminded.

"Yes, but hopefully most of the scientists were smart enough to play the Romans' game and avoid that fate." Macen opined, "Unfortunately, there's no public records of the auction results. We'll have to access those from the local slaver franchises."

"Sounds like fun." Riker replied grimly, "Everything is all quiet up here. No one seems to have caught on that we're here. Despite some system troubles."

"What kind of troubles?" Macen asked with a tight voice.

"Minor systems mostly." Riker begged off, "Nothing to worry about. They've been good for testing Bruis and Thool's reaction times."

"Keep me informed." Macen didn't sound reassured, "That damn ship's balked too many times at an inopportune time. We can't afford to let it blow the mission. If it gets worse, beam us up and we'll withdraw and return by alternate means of transportation."

Riker cringed at scrapping his first command but nodded for his own benefit, "Roger that. When should I expect your next signal?"

"We'll try again in four hours." Macen told him, "Survey team out."

"Copy survey team." Riker replied, ending the transmission. Since coming aboard the Outbound Ventures' payroll, he'd commanded the quirky ship he was sitting in. _Ju'day_-class ships had a reputation for solid performance with increasingly eccentric performance behaviours as they aged. This ship was more eccentric than most, bordering on senile in fact, than most due to its retrofitted parts. It had never been designed with the thought of wielding the most powerful phaser batteries, warp core, and impulse engines known to Federation technology. If the _Defiant_-class had once been considered too overpowered for safe operation, then the _Eclipse_ could be considered too powerful to remain intact.

As it was, the ship had repetitively blown systems during use. The team's last mission for the SID, proceeding Macen and T'Kir's scouting mission, had nearly resulted in disaster when the pulse phasers had failed directly after the cloak had dropped and fused every circuit within itself. On several occasions problems with both the warp and impulse engines had nearly ended mission at a critical juncture. Macen had sent the ship to Starfleet's SPYards with the request for a new ship. They had repaired the _Eclipse_ and promised a replacement if needed. Riker hoped that wouldn't prove necessary.

* * *

"Sir, I've detected a transmission." Legion Communications Specialist Lucilla Canaris reported.

"We intercept thousands of messages every day." The surly Centurion of the watch growled, "What's so special about this one?"

"It's a subspace signal." Canaris explained, "Only the Star Legion as that technology. How would the barbarian rebels get a hold of that kind of equipment unless they had a mole inside of the Star Legion?"

The Centurion opened his mouth to reply but was surprised to hear another woman's voice instead, "They wouldn't. Excellent work Specialist, consider yourself promoted and on my personal staff as of this moment. Report to my command trailer after you tell me more of this mysterious signal."

The Centurion swallowed hard and moved out of the way of the twenty-something woman glaring imperiously at him. For she was Livia Germanicus, Commander of the Northern Legions. Her command was a tremendous achievement among men and unprecedented amongst women. Female service to the Legion had been one of Doric's reforms predating Ezexiel's first appearance. Livia's skill and her relation to Alaric Germanicus earned her command of the forces that faced off against her Germanic cousins, the Danelanders, the Northlandsmen, the Britons, Scots, Picti and the Eiremen.

Only the Eastern Legions surpassed the size of her command. They squared off against the united Persian and Han Empires.

As much as Livia wanted to promote the younger woman merely on her merits, it was also to make certain the little bitch did not discover the Commander's secret. Like her older sibling, Livia knew that despite his imperious name, Aurelius Romulus had traded his power away to the alien Ezexiel. Unlike her brother, Livia had set events into motion, events that would topple an emperor. Livia had approached the so-called Council of Free Peoples, a coalition of Rome's greatest enemies, and offered to dispose of the troublesome youth occupying the throne.

Livia knew the loose coalition's name was a misnomer at best. Some of the cultures represented treated their citizenry with far less dignity then they would have had under the Roman eagle. The leadership read like a who's who of Rome's hitless: Hwynn ab Hugh, the Celtic High King; Wotegang, the Free German Overlord; Sven Lofsen: High King of the Norseman; Chan Chiang, the Chung Kao Emperor; and Saladin, the Persian Caliph. All of these men were the most hated enemies of Rome. All of these men were her allies.

After centuries of warfare, all sides were ready to settle down and normalise trade and diplomatic relations. It had been difficult convincing her erstwhile allies of her sincerity and of her lack of desire to occupy the Roman throne upon its vacancy. In the end, it took her most powerful ally and friend in this venture to assure the foreign rulers of their safety. Having an Imperial Senator on your side always aided your cause, having Flavius Brutus on it assured it.

Brutus' honour and reputation were renowned throughout the settled world. His oath bound them all to a common cause. At Livia's signal, the Northern Armies would march on Magna Roma accompanied by the Celts, Norse, and Free German forces. The Slavs, Persians and Han would also attack and the Zulus would attack the Egyptian fields and canals. Overwhelmed by the tide of synchronised pressure, the Legion would crack and the Northern Army would be the first to ever attack Magna Roma.

All of these plans, however, depended on co-ordination. If her subspace array and messages were discovered too soon, it would ruin everything. It was far better to reel in her young tech and subvert her to the cause or eliminate her altogether. Both options were equally satisfactory to Livia. She was already committed to waging war against her fellow Legionnaires, slaying one a little early was a trifling matter unworthy of her time.

"Commander, the signal originated in or near Marseilles and was received by an orbital position." Lucilla explained.

"An orbital position?" Livia asked.

"Yessir." Lucilla replied crisply, "From the tracking record I made of its response and reception points, its path covers the northern pole and it makes rapid orbits that would allow it access to the entire northern hemisphere of the planet."

_This is the last thing I need_, Livia mentally groused, "Can you identify the vessel?"

"Negative. Nothing appears on our scopes." Lucilla replied.

_Damnation! This was an Omicron plot if there ever was one._ Livia fumed, "Upload your findings to the Command Staff of the Star Legions. They'll know how to deal with this mystery. We have enough problems right here on the ground."

"Yes, Commander." Lucilla replied brightly.

_It'll be a damned shame to kill this one,_ Livia observed, _Too bad it's unavoidable._

* * *

The SID survey team made their way towards the central railway depot. Magnetically suspended and driven trains dominated the mass transit system. Subsidised by the heavy levies and restitutions imposed on vanquished foes, the Romans' own infrastructure demanded they go to war. Smaller versions of the trains ran throughout a maze-like warren of tunnels. This style dominated modern Roman architecture and city planning.

They'd taken two of the three subways required to reach the train depot from their original position. The first mag-rail car was a study in the Roman free plebeian class as well as household slaves entrusted with duties beyond their masters' property. The second car proved far more revealing when a young Ferengi came aboard bearing the bounty from his excursion to the markets. He briefly glanced in the direction of the survey team and froze. The Ferengi recovered by whistling to himself and staring at a slightly out of place bolt in the ceiling. Macen wished he could thank the Ferengi about his warning regarding the surveillance devices but it could wait. As the team disembarked, T'Kir dropped some currency she'd "liberated" from the Imperial Bank into the Ferengi's basket.

Stepping out into the courtyard was an immersion of smells. The dockyards where they'd initially set down had been a literal ocean of smells. Their second stop had been near the oldest section of town and reeked of decay and human consumption. Disease and delight ran their course there without restraint.

Here, at the mag-rail depot, the smells ran the gamut of the Empire's breadth and width in order to accommodate citizens from those same far-flung corners. Lutefish and glutefish boiled in pots alongside each other. Peppered meats from Byzantium hung beside lamb chops from Britannia. Slavic sausages contrasted German rye bread. It was an idyllic scene of one ignored the armoured troopers milling about every train car, examining papers.

Macen looked towards T'Kir, "I didn't know. I'll need another terminal and about ten minutes."

"There's one." Daggit pointed without ever removing his steady gaze from any of the soldiers. Sometimes even he had to admit his enhanced abilities were desirable. T'Kir accessed the system as easily as before but now had to build an entire cover for each member of the team, including genetic records. Since none of the team members were human, she had to hack the central security system and create an override to disengage the alarms of the individual hand units. She'd nearly finished this task when a massive explosion rocked the plaza.

Three of the ten rail cars erupted into molten shrapnel. The Legion barracks next to the magnetic tracks was pulverised, the men and women instantly killed. The same could not be said for the Legionnaires out in the plaza. The transparent aluminium booth surrounding the public access terminal had spared the survey team. T'Kir blinked at several large and steaming shards embedded at her eye level. Strangely, not one of the shopkeepers had been present when the explosions occurred.

Several of the proprietors were now returning, but Daggit tensed up. Macen noticed the shop owners were wielding some form of weapons. They fired luminescent burst into the rare struggling body of a survivor.

"Plasma guns." Dracas marvelled, "I'd love to get my hands on one of those museum pieces."

"You may get your chance." Macen informed him, "Only it might be from the working end."

"How'd they pull this off?" Dracas wondered.

"They must have substituted their people for the normal shop owners." Daggit surmised, now they're performing 'double-taps'."

"Double whats?" Dracas asked.

"Double-taps." Daggit explained, "An ancient military tradition where the standing group of soldiers ensures the fallen soldiers are truly dead by shooting them in the head. It's a practice that pre-dates most spacefaring races in the Alpha Quadrant."

"That'd explain the coffee lady." T'Kir mused aloud.

"The what?" Dracas asked.

"The elderly woman who was complaining about her coffee." T'Kir tones revealed she thought the question was inane, "She tried to order coffee, but prepared a specific way. The man didn't know how and she ranted about how Julius knew how to make it."

"Speed it up." Macen quietly urged.

"The point being, Julius chose today to be the first time in ten years to not operate his shop himself." T'Kir, "D'you think that significantly testifies to these peoples technical sophistication?"

"You heard all that?" Daggit asked.

"And a lot more." She confirmed.

"And everyone's thoughts?" Dracas inquired.

"Screened a few, blocked the rest."

"Now that's a helluva thing." Dracas remarked. in awe

"It ain't easy being cheesy." T'Kir bragged.

"_What_?" both Dracas and Daggit asked.

""We need to go." Macen interrupted, "They've spotted us."

The others saw a half dozen men and women cautiously approaching with weapons at the ready. The SID tem members slowly exited out of the booth in single file. They were lined up and patted down. Their phasers and non-energy weapons were taken and shown to the obvious leader.

"Who are you?" he demanded, "Are you more Praetorians sent to enforce the alien's will upon our will?"

"Not exactly." Macen answered, "T'Kir?" T'Kir threw her hood back, revealing the upswept curves of her ears.

"You're like the 1st One." The leader gasped, he turned to Macen; "That would make you the Chaplain."

"Pardon me?" Macen replied in surprise.

"The Chaplain, the 1st One and the Holy Healer." The Roman explained, "Those that followed after the Son, that taught us the Truth of Resistance. It has been our Crusade ever since to free the people of all nations from the shackles of Rome and particularly from the evils of Ezexiel and his kin."

"What's he talking about?" Dracas inquired.

"The Chaplain, the 1st One and the Holy Healer are their names for the Captain, 1st Officer and Chief Medical Officer. They relate to James Kirk, Spock, and Dr. McCoy." Macen surmised.

"So now I'm Mr. _Frinxing_ Spock?" T'Kir protested, "I want off this team."

"I don't understand." The Roman asked in confusion.

"We loosely represent the same government Kirk and his officers spoke of while here. We've been sent to assess the impact of that encounter upon your society." Macen explained.

"The impact?" the man asked, "Millions of our fellow citizens have been converted to the Faith. We Crusaders carried the torch alone for decades but now we have a plan and a way. Our only fear has been the demon alien and our own star forces. But now that concern is gone."

"Why?" Macen asked ruefully.

"Now you're here." The Crusader explained, "And you will deal with those forces. Victory is finally at hand!"

Macen wanted to protest but T'Kir urgently spoke up, "I'm hearing several magnetically propelled vehicles that sound like those tanks we saw earlier."

"We need to go now." Macen urged the Roman; "My team needs their weapons back."

The Roman reverently handed them over, "That passageway leads to the main thoroughfare, it will still be possible to escape. Go with God and be safe from evil."

"Fates and Prophets guide you." Macen returned, causing the man to beam with delight.

_Zealots_, Macen mentally sighed; _they're_ _always up for a new flavour of extremism._

There had been a time in El-Auria's distant past when Macen's people had utilised their native listening skills with others and detect probabilities in conjunction with their ability to sense the nearby non-linear lifeforms. Macen personally suspected that either the Prophets or the Pah-Wraiths represented another extension of the beings his people had once worshipped as gods. As the El-Aurians had grown more sophisticated and skilled with their abilities, they'd grown to understand their "gods" were merely a different form of life. While Macen could intellectually empathise with the Romans' desire to believe in benevolent deities, he wasn't ready believe on the basis of faith alone. Trust had to be earned. The known entities closest to god/s were the Q Continuum and Macen would prefer dying an atheist rather than worship that brood of omnipotent nincompoops.

No sooner had he completed these thoughts than his team had found the entrance to the alleyway the Roman Crusader had directed them to. It was also when the first Roman tank hovered its way into the plaza. A ceramic half-clamshell with a smaller clamshell atop it, the upper clamshell possessed a Type-5 phaser cannon analogue mounted within it. The lower section possessed four plasma cannons mounted equally around the circumference of the disk. The turret had two biaxial plasma guns as well as a third anti-aircraft cannon.

As the first tank ripped into the Crusader's ranks with its small arms, the second tank arrived. At this point, two sub-impulse fighters began to rain fire upon the hopelessly outgunned rebels. Dracas stopped running to attach an ovular device to the barrel of his phaser. As the fighters made another pass, he fired. An egg shaped missile flew off the end of his phaser and tracked the fighter. Even though it lacked the fighter's fuel supply, it overtook the fighter and killed it as its proximity sensor triggered the detonation fuse.

Early on in the Bajoran Resistance, the rebels had discovered that shoulder fired chemically propelled rockets easily eluded Cardassian sensors set to seek personal anti-matter and isomagnetic warheads. Over time, the technology shifted, allowing the warheads to be fired from the barrel of a particle weapon rather than from a dedicated launch vehicle. Dracas had studied the Bajoran designs and condensed them to palm-sized monuments to miniaturised destruction.

As the first sub-impulse fighter descended in flames, the tank turned towards Dracas. Another missile slammed into the tanks, destroying the commander's cupola.

Dracas turned to wave thanks to Daggit, who'd fired the first of his three missiles.

Dracas attached his second as Daggit reloaded as well. Daggit fired at the incoming fighter while it was still beginning its strafing run. Its burning wreckage landed amidst the destroyed rail cars.

Seeing what was transpiring, Macen called out to T'Kir; "Go! I'll gather up our lost lambs and catch up."

Seeing her hesitation, he yelled, "Dammit! Get going already."

Macen ran back towards his wayward men. Dracas had already expended another missile as the Romans tried to bring another tank in. It lay on its side, gutted and in flames. Macen cursed. They'd come to this world to conduct a survey, not fight a war. If they couldn't obey orders or mission protocols, then they'd better get used to living off the Federation dole.

As Macen cleared the alley and entered the debris strewn plaza, his worst fears were confirmed. Roman ground troops were rushing in en masse. Escape, much less survival, was swiftly looking increasingly unlikely. Pulling his own phaser free of its holster, Macen made his way towards Dracas and Daggit.

The Romans' armour shielded them from plasma bolts but it only deflected the lower stun settings of particle weapons. The swords they carried, it was proven, were far too effective to be merely ceremonial. Their particle weapons were nearly identical to those wielded by Terrans during their first deep-space explorations. If the Nova Romans truly did derive from seed stock plucked from Earth, the irony eerily smacked of convoluted destinies.

Macen reached the duo as the First Roman soldiers came within the Romans' weapon's range. Streamed phaser fire felled the Romans' first rank. Macen yelled for the other two men to follow. As they turned, they saw Romans approaching from the very alley that had been their way of escape. There was no sign of T'Kir, so Macen retained the hope she escaped.

A particle blast caught Dracas in the back, stunning him. Daggit dispatched the two soldiers bravely charging. Macen opened fire upon the alleyway. Most of the Romans were pinned but through the courageous efforts of Legionnaires willing to risk injury, Macen was stunned. Daggit's heightened reflexes and metabolism allowed him to fight on for far longer but eventually he too was brought down.

Afterwards, the amazed Roman Commander inspected the SID teammember's weapons, "Alert the Star Legions and the Praetorians. We have aliens in our midst."


	8. Chapter 8

125

_Frinx!_ T'Kir swore silently to herself as she hurried away from the Legionnaires headed down the alleyway she'd just left. Macen, Daggit and Dracas hadn't made it out, and probably never would now. She needed to go underground and stay free to track their movements. So far, the closest thing to an underground movement she'd encountered was the religion oriented Crusaders. As much as she feared relying upon anyone, she needed to find another group of the rebellion minded zealots.

T'Kir understood revolutionary zeal. Often, it was the only thing that had kept the Maquis going. She'd even experienced it once or twice, but never regarding anything remotely religious. She'd watched the Bajorans wrestle with their faith in the Prophets. Faith seemed to provide more pain than comfort.

_Okay, enough of this moping_, she advised herself. Seeing another data terminal, she stepped into the line to use it. Most just wished to check in with family or friends and left quickly. The man before her, however, droned on and on to his companion about how relieved he was that they were safe. T'Kir politely reminded him of the line several times before she applied a nerve pinch and cut the comm line.

She received several cheers along with the clapping of hands. She turned to take a little bow and activated the terminal. She found what she wanted within a few moments. Despite the danger of staying too close to the scene of the recent disturbance, T'Kir had found and procured temporary lodgings for the evening. The inn promised access to the Roman Central Net with which she could continue her search for allies.

* * *

Radil watched closely as Riker shamelessly flirted with Sito. Luckily, the younger woman seemed well versed in such tactics and merely played along out of amusement. A telltale on her board sounded suddenly. The Roman communications activity had more than doubled over the last five minutes. She tried to isolate a channel and eavesdrop as to what was suddenly so important.

"Captain," Grace interrupted Riker's attempts, "three Roman vessels have suddenly moved into position around us."

"Sito, what's the status on the cloak?"" Riker inquired.

"All systems read fully functional." Sito reported.

"Sir, four more ships have set up a secondary perimeter." Grace informed him unhappily, "They're setting up a cordon."

"Can you get us out?" worry tinged Riker's voice.

"If we leave right now." she answered grimly.

"Now we know they uncovered the ground team." Lucarno remarked.

"They've also penetrated the cloak." Radil observed, "We might as well forget that and regain the use of our shields and weapons."

"Agreed." Riker nodded, "Engineering, we may be in for some bumps."

"We'll hold things together for you Cap'n." B'nner grunted.

Riker clapped his hands together, "All right then. Grace, when I give the word, set your course and get us out of here. Sito, as she does so. drop the cloak and power all tactical systems."

Both women acknowledged their orders and inputted last minute instructions into their consoles before Riker gave the order, "Execute on three... two... one!"

The _Eclipse _banked hard as Grace applied the thrusters. Next, she jumpstarted the impulse engines to full power. Rather than trying to navigate through the encircling Roman cruisers, Grace slipped below one of the closest ships and committed the scout to a slingshot manoeuvre ending in an escape vector out of the system.

The four ships comprising the outer picket line were caught unawares but still responded swiftly enough threaten the fleeing _Eclipse_. The closest rained phaser fire upon the scoutship. Riker returned fire but refused to use either his torpedoes or his pulse phasers. They still had a long way to go to escape Nova Roman space and revealing their full weapons compliment this early in the game would remove potential advantages later.

Fortunately, none of the other ships were in position to fire before the _Eclipse_ went into warp. She was faster than any Roman craft, so she need not fear pursuit from Nova Roma itself. However, that still left the Roman patrols between them and the border. Another difficulty was that the _Eclipse _had taken some severe damage in her flight towards freedom. Among the most critically damaged systems was the cloaking device, which would render them visible to the entire Roman fleet all the way to the border.

* * *

Macen slowly awoke. Aches and pains permeating every pore in his body reminded him of his last moments of consciousness. Dracas had fallen to a phaser beam. Macen went to him to check whether or not the engineer was still alive. No sooner had he confirmed that Dracas was still alive when he himself was struck down by a Legionnaire's blast.

This proved an embarrassment since Macen had escaped capture by the Borg, the Cardassians, the Breen, the Tholians, the Andergani and the Dominion with barely a scratch to show for it. Accepting his lesson in humility for what it was, Macen started the long, slow process of shifting to an upright position on the cot he was currently occupying. In all likelihood, the procedure did not take as long as it felt but such was the illusion cast by pain. Fortunately, the discomfort ebbed as he neared his goal.

"Here's too not reliving _that_ experience." He muttered

He sat there letting his head clear when he heard the tromping of boots. _Well, they're not wasting any time are they?_ He thought wryly. Obviously his captors had him under close observation. Not surprising since the Romans displayed the worst case of xenophobia behaviour encountered since the Zeon Holocaust at the hands of the Ekosians.

Perhaps too surprising here was the inadvertent interference by a Federation citizen. Historian John Gill had not intended to create a brutal regime of hate and terror when he helped remould Ekosian society on the Nazi model but the inevitable took its toll and Ekosia's neighbour, Zeon, paid the price. If not for the intervention of the _USS Enterprise _under James Kirk's command, Ekosia would not have rested until it murdered every Zeon man, woman and child. Afterwards, there would be no where else to go but out into the stars to repeat the pattern. Unless of course, they encountered a stronger race that repaid them in kind.

Macen's train of thought was broken by the arrival of two Roman soldiers. The man appeared to be of classic Roman lineage but the woman's red hair gave away her foreign ancestry. Judging by their uniforms, they belonged to the Star Legions rather than the Praetorian Guard or the regular Legions. Their hands nervously twitched near their weapons but they refrained from pulling them free from their holsters and scabbards, at least for now. Judging by their nervousness, neither of them had many dealings with offworlders. He couldn't say that surprised him much when the few ships that skirted the quarantine barrier around Nova Roman space were captured and their crews enslaved.

"You will come with us." the woman said through a heavy burr.

Since his universal translator had been confiscated along with the rest of his gear, Macen wondered if these two had been chosen to escort him because of their ability to speak English, also known as Federation Standard. As he followed them through the labyrinth composing the dungeon he currently resided in, he idly wondered if this was a specialised skill. As divided as this world remained, language specialists would be a prized intelligence asset. It could also explain the uncomfortability his two guards displayed towards their own weaponry.

They led him to a thick steel door at the end of the hallway and shoved him against the wall. One unlocked the door with a set of keys while the other kept his weapon trained on Macen. The weapons man glanced towards the door as it opened. _Fates, but they're sloppy, _Brin thought to himself as they directed him to step into the room. The door slammed shut behind him as he passed the threshold.

_Well isn't this cosy?_ He thought as he looked around. The room was built along the lines of a rectangular briefing room. There was a table with chairs all around it. One chair at the end of the table possessed restraints and mounts, presumably for torture devices. The fact that the guards hadn't tied Macen down bespoke of special treatment. No torture probably meant that he and his team presented more of a mystery than a threat in the Romans' thinking. He'd have to be careful to maintain that status.

The locks to the door released and it swung open, revealing two figures. The first was human, fair skinned and very tall. The second stood a head taller than the 7' tall human and could not be confused with anything remotely human. The alien possessed obsidian-like skin and rugged, almost jagged, features.

_Ah, the secondary source of cultural contamination, _Macen deduced.

"Welcome to Magna Roma." the human said in passable English, "I assume you are yet another one of our spaceborne 'cousins' to visit our planet."

"Not exactly." Macen replied.

"What does that mean?" The human demanded, "What manner of men are you?

One of your men withstood ten particle blasts before succumbing."

"I hate to inform you, but none of us are human." Macen informed him, "We're just fortunate or unfortunate enough to look like one."

"How can this be true?" The human asked.

"Convergent evolution." the alien spoke at last in the same tongue, "His species is different though, his infrared signature differs from your kind."

"Where are you from?" The human inquired.

"You wouldn't recognise the name if I told you." Macen advised.

"Tell us." the alien answered, "You have no concept of what we know."

Macen had the impression the alien was excluding the Roman beside him in his use of the word "we".

"Let us wait a moment, Ezexial." the human cautioned, "Civility has proven far more effective in obtaining information from these Federation types than force. Hostility will only derail our purpose here."

"You are a fool Alaric Vandalius." snarled the alien, now revealed as Ezexial, "This one is not like the others. He is well practised in deceit. It ekes from his very core."

"Nonetheless," Alaric replied through gritted teeth, "he is an alien, not unlike

yourself, and therefore under the jurisdiction of my Star Legions, not your wastrel Praetorians."

_Curiouser and curiouser, _Macen thought, invoking the immortal words of Alice. _They truly despise one another. How can I use this to my advantage?_

"Gentlemen, if you please." Macen interrupted Ezexial's sure to be angry retort, "It's true that I'm your prisoner, but I'm not your enemy."

"Then why were collaborating with the Crusaders?" Ezexial demanded to know, "Have you been sent to assassinate the Emperor?"

"No." Macen answered truthfully, "It seems to me that plenty of people want to do that all ready. Personally, I never met the man and bear no ill will against him. My mission here is simple: I'm looking for a group of Federation citizens that recently disappeared near your system."

"Is that your only mission?" Alaric asked, wearing a pensive expression.

"No." Macen ignored Ezexial's derisive snort of triumph, "I'm also to determine how much cultural contamination was caused by Merrick and the officers of the _Enterprise_."

"You see!" Ezexial gloated, "He is a spy. I've warned you that extraterrestrials cannot be trusted."

"Yet you insist that we can trust you and your kind." Alaric shot back, "What makes you so different?"

"We are far older than these children." Ezexial answered in menacing tones, "We have seen and accomplished more over the millennia than these pups will ever dream of. We are here to assist you in realising your potential… nothing more, nothing less."

"We don't need your help." Alaric replied angrily.

"Your emperor disagrees," Ezexial gloated, "So we shall remain."

"Gentlemen, is this something you wish to discuss in front of me?" Macen chimed in.

"He is correct. He has heard too much. We must execute him." Ezexial declared.

"No!" Alaric snapped, "If any harm comes to him or either of his men, Aurelius shall hear of it. Let us see how long you soil our world after that."

Ezexial smiled, it was far chillier than his scowl; "Ah, I appreciate your open contempt Vandalius. It is far more refreshing than the skulking of _his_ kind."

"I must ask you one final question for now." Alaric informed Macen, "How many other troops did you bring? How many are free?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't know how many you captured." Macen deflected the question.

"Two." was Alaric's response.

"Than you've captured all of my survey party." Macen lied, all too aware of Ezexial's piercing gaze.

"And your ship?"

"Flown away to await our signal to come in for retrieval." Macen lied again with still no response from the foreboding alien.

"Very well then." Alaric rose, "You will be returned to your cell. There you will be fed and rested before our next meeting."

"And when will that be?"

"After I report to the Emperor and find out what he wants to know from you." Alaric revealed.

With that, Ezexial's smile widened.

* * *

T'Kir has secured lodgings in a local flophouse that offered comm and network access. Her first action was to strip the blonde tint from her hair. Reverted back to her natural raven locks, she opted to also cut them as well. She retained the length on top but tapered the back along the nape of her neck. The longer length on top allowed her to retain a feminine edge while also providing emergency cover for her ears.

Next, she logged onto the central database network. Customising the interface controls, she carefully constructed firewalls and tapeworm programs to erase any sign of her having entered a system. Once this painstaking labour was completed, she plunged headlong into the data streams.

T'Kir had several false starts before accessing the database with the information she sought. Macen, Daggit, and Dracas were being held at the Imperial Palace. There were also voluminous files on the Crusaders and other, foreign foes of the Empire. Taking her first bite from the meal she'd ordered from the host's kitchen, she buckled down in earnest and began researching the Roman Empire's enemies list.

Getting dressed, she reviewed the list displayed on the padd she'd brought. The list was voluminous. It seemed every independent nation remaining on this ersatz Earth was at war with, or openly hostile towards, Rome; or to be exact, Nova Roma (ie: Terran Paris). Those not at war were generally client nations who earned peace through tribute. These nations included Brittania (the United Kingdom), Germania (Germany and Austria), Norseland (Scandinavia) and Russka (Russia). The nations engaged in outright hostilities included Zululand (Southern Africa), Chung Kao (China, Korea, Mongolia, and Japan), and the Incan and Mayan Empires of North and South America. Those not at war wished to be. The only problem was that no one seemed capable of uniting them. Or was there?

T'Kir never completed that thought as a heavy handed thudded against her door and a harsh voice demanded entrance. _The Legionnaires!_ her mind shouted, wondering how they'd penetrated her cyber defences to trace her here. Quickly strapping on hre utility belt, she scooped up her padd and returned it to its pouch. she briefly considered pulling her phaser out but decided against it. Hand to hand would serve better in such cramped quarters.

* * *

"There's one coming about!" Sito Jaxa shouted in alarm.

"I've got him." Radil snarled, "Dammit! I missed. Grace, I need another pass."

"Don't want much do you?" Grace mumbled as she threw the _Eclipse_ into a violent tumble that aligned both of their Nova Roman attackers directly in the sights of the fore and aft torpedo launchers.

"Yesssss!" Radil hissed in bloodthirsty anticipation as she depressed the firing button for the torpedoes. The computer took over and auto-fired both banks until the enemies' shields and structural integrity collapsed.

"Good job people." Riker commended, his status board showing the surrounding area of space littered with crippled Roman craft, "Now let's get out of here and make repairs before they call up reinforcements."

"Aye, aye, O' Captain my Captain." Grace replied as she laid a course into the Conn.

* * *

T'Kir braced as the door slid aside to reveal an awaiting Legionnaire. The armoured trooper charged her while waving a stun baton. T'Kir sidestepped while slipping her arm inside of his weapons arm. Sweeping his leg, she deftly dropped him to the floor while lifting the baton from him. She then applied its potency against him.

Watching the stricken Roman spasm and writhe, she cocked an eyebrow; "Cool."

The remaining Legionnaires, enraged by their comrade being handily dispatched, rushed forward as a mob. Wearing a feral grin, T'Kir launched into action. She met the first head on, jabbing him in the nose with the baton. As she whirled away, she thrust the baton under the armour plating of one his comrades and activated it. Next, she blocked a swing from the third man, which she used a nerve pinch on.

The last man threw his baton down and came at her in a ready stance. This man, she realised, was an experienced hand to hand combatant. They exchanged lightening quick blows, blocks and jabs before T'Kir grew bored and utilised her full Vulcan strength. Grabbing the Roman's breastplate, she hurled him across the room into the outer wall.

Not even having raised a sweat, T'Kir calmly strode out of her room and made her way to the inn's lobby. Having paid her bill in advance, not to mention the bribe the owner undoubtedly received, she left without any qualms. As she walked, she recalled the data she'd reviewed and her thoughts on one person unifying the various factions vying against Rome. At first glance no one seemed to fill that role. On further reflection, there seemed to be an unindentified source acting out the part. T'Kir's new priority was to unroot that person or persons and persuade them to rescue Macen.

* * *

"Are you certain this moon is safe enough?" Riker inquired.

"Certainly." Grace replied, "It's outside of Roman territory, tectonically stable and has plenty of kelbanite caves to masque the ship's power signature."

"Take us down then." Riker ordered.

Grace began the delicate landing procedure. The ship slowly descended through the atmosphere, keeping the shields raised in order to deflect the inevitable friction. As the _Ju'day_ slid through the clouds, its wings levelled out to form an aerodynamic wedge on which to glide. This further stabilised the craft, granting greater manoeuvrability.

Scanning along the planet's surface as she guided the ship further down, Grace found what she was looking for. She lowered and slowed the craft until it hovered before a mammoth cavern. Next she rotated the ship 180 degrees and toggled the viewer to a rear view. Nudging the manoeuvring thrusters, she backed the ship into the cave.

Once in, she released the manoeuvring jets and activated the landing thrusters. These gently lowered the ship until the landing skids touched the ground. Automatic sensors registered this change and deactivated the thrusters, letting the ship's full weight fall on the skids. Hydraulic pistons tensed as the ship settled atop them, granting the _Eclipse's_ passengers a levelled platform in which to work.

"Good work, Hannah." Riker praised, then activated the intercom; "All right people, thanks to Grace we have a safe haven in which to make repairs. Let's use it and get back in this fight. Riker out."

"And what will you be doing while the rest of us are fixing things?" Radil inquired suspiciously.

"Figuring out where to go from here." Riker replied flatly.


	9. Chapter 9

137

Hal Dracas awoke to find his head throbbing like a poorly aligned plasma injector. It didn't make him very happy. Even worse, he could still remember why his head and body ached. The memory of over a dozen Roman soldiers firing on Daggit while Dracas slipped in and out of consciousness disturbed him even further.

Although Daggit hadn't a clue, Dracas had secretly admired the younger man for several months now. No one aboard (except maybe Macen and T'Kir, there was no telling how much they knew about anything) had a clue as to Dracas' sexual proclivities. Although the Federation claimed tolerance for any and all lifestyles, they also tolerated the same Ardannian prejudices that labelled his mores a deviancy. That, in Dracas' opinion, made the Federation partially responsible for the ongoing intolerance on his native world. He had been born the man he was, with the notable exception of his appearance, and no amount of discrimination could alter that.

Daggit himself remained rather ambiguous in his stated preferences but his continued attention towards Radil said quite a bit. Dracas pitied Daggit in his pining over what was clearly a lost cause. Radil favoured both Tom Riker and Kort over any other men and women on the team. Young Hannah Grace, however, would gladly succumb to any courtesies Daggit paid her. Dracas often wondered how such a gifted tactician could be so blind emotionally.

Daggit would never know of Dracas' true feelings for him. No man ever would. Although Dracas had long come to terms with his sexuality, his homeworld had not. Homosexual Troglytes were routinely executed, yet strangely, gay Stratosians were not. If Dracas' nature were discovered by his native authorities, he'd be drug home in irons and placed on the executioners block. All while the wretched Prime Directive ensured that neither Starfleet nor the SID would do a thing about it.

There was no telling what Macen might do, however. Dracas respected the Mission Commander. Macen did his best to take care of his people no matter the personal costs to himself. He'd been forced to leave Starfleet because of this, which only made him an even more effective agent for them.

Speaking of whom, it was time for Dracas to discover if his compatriots were alive. He approached the barred door of his cell and tested the lock. He studied it for a moment and realised he had nothing available with which to pick it. He hadn't been this helpless since the Andergani had… No. Best not to think about that. Focus on the task at hand.

"Commander Macen? Daggit?" Dracas called out, "Is anyone there? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine Dracas." Daggit's voice came back, "But Macen's been separated from us."

"Rab?" Dracas asked excitedly, his hopes rising; "Is that really you?"

"Yeah," Daggit replied forlornly, "it's me."

"Are you hurt?" Dracas inquired, trying to mask the true depth of his concern.

""No." Daggit replied morosely.

"Then what's wrong?" Dracas was confused.

"I failed." Daggit snarled, "I failed Macen and I failed you. We were captured and then separated. Who knows what these butchers are doing to Macen right now."

"As long as we're alive, there's hope." Dracas declared with more confidence then he felt.

"Strange sentiments coming from you, Chief." Daggit's sense of humour flickering to life, "Normally you're the dour one."

"I learned something during my recent… difficulties." Dracas explained, "As long as you're alive, they haven't won. As long as they haven't won, you still can."

A lengthy silence proceeded Daggit's reply, "Wish you could've been on the Tarsian Front with us Chief."

Despite his silence, Dracas concurred for entirely separate reasons.

* * *

Livia stood before the huge comm screen in the mobile HQ of the Roman Armies of the North. The screen was divided into several smaller screens for a conference call literally spanning the globe. The other participants were not other Roman generals, however, but the leaders of every free empire and disgruntled client nation across Nova Roma. This meeting would have been of utmost interest to the Praetorian Guard since it was a planning session for the dismantling of the Roman Empire.

Livia Germanicus saw herself as a patriot rather than a traitor. The Emperor had been deceived, and ultimately brainwashed, by aliens. Livia planned to liberate Magna Roma from this corruption. If she had to give away a few provinces in the process, so be it. The peace achieved by this bartering would enable the Empire to regain its former solidity. Her current "allies" would grovel before her soon enough.

_That is, _she amended to herself, _if I can get them to stop bickering long enough to accomplish anything._

"Gentlemen! Lady!" she finally yelled out in frustration, "Enough!"

_That _drew everyone up short. Livia had always made a point of not losing her temper during these conference calls. They were so close to the fruition of their layered scheming that she couldn't help it. She wasn't about to let these various imbeciles throw everything away now.

"Listen here," she snapped, "we're almost ready to topple our common foe and yet here you stand ready to throw all our work away. _I will not allow this to happen!_"

The imaged leaders all shrank back from her wrath. She allowed herself a slight smile of satisfaction. It was no wonder none of these "great" and "noble" leaders had done little more than delay the Roman acquisition of their lands. The lot of them were nothing but squabbling barbarian whelps. She could tolerate their incessant feuding when it served her purposes but not any longer.

"If we are to defeat Nova Roma, then we must be united as one." she reminded them coldly, "Not just in word but also in deed. We must be kin to one another. If we are divided, we fail as one. If we succeed, we also succeed as one. You have put aside your fear and mistrust of Rome long enough to embrace me as your ally. Why can you not embrace one another, when all of you have more commonalities and shared grievances than disputes?"

"If you truly cannot abide one another, then depart this fellowship immediately. It is better to withdraw honourably than to bring the scourge of defeat upon our heads. Rome will not look any kinder upon one who is unfaithful than she will upon the rest. Once a traitor, always a traitor in Rome's eyes and I need not remind you of Rome's penalty for treason. We must stand now, united, or we must walk our own paths separately and know we let this one certain chance of victory slip through our grasp."

Livia let them mull her words over in silence. Twenty seconds passed, then thirty, and finally the nods of assent came. All of them agreed, without a single complaint or condition. This time, Livia did nothing to suppress her radiant smile as she basked in triumph.

* * *

Tom wondered onto the bridge. Thool and B'nner had Sito adjusting the targeting sensors. Radil was hip deep in the comm array while Lucarno struggled to repair the damaged shield emitters. The two engineers themselves were repairing more primary and secondary systems than Riker wanted to think about. Kort was using Sickbay as a makeshift galley, heating rations and distributing them as needed across the ship. That left Grace working alone on the bridge.

By some unforeseen happenstance, Navigation and Flight Control systems had hardly been damaged. That left Grace free to work on the most damaged bridge station: Ops. The entire link to the Main Computer had been severed. That essentially crippled Ops, not to mention whoever reported it to T'Kir if it wasn't at least partially repaired by the time she returned. _If _wasn't an option Grace would accept.

Free of prying eyes, Grace was able to use a little time saving device no one knew she had. It was a device that Federation science would be unable to explain despite the fact the technology was over a century old. It was a metallic, rectanguar box with six lights aligned along its outer edges. In the centre was a single activation stud. The device was specifically attuned to her brainwaves and could not be used by anyone else, even if they deduced it purpose.

Eyeing the burned out isolinear rods that formally carried data back and forth from the MC to the Ops station, Grace concentrated, then pressed the activation stud. The six lights flashed to life and the molecular structure of the rods began to shift until the damage to them was reversed. It was then that Grace heard the crunch of a boot on burnt insulation.

Grace whirled. One hand fastened her device to her belt while the other sought out the throat of her eavesdropper. Finding it, she lifted and let her momentum carry her around until she slammed the entire body into the bulkhead.

Seeing that she had Captain Riker dangling in the air, feet inches from the ground, Grace swore violently in a half-dozen alien tongues, each oath more profane than the last. She dropped Riker and backed away. As he launched into a coughing fit, she mentally prepared a new set of orders for her instrument. Her hand hovered over the activation button while Riker finished coughing and lifted his head to glare venomously at her.

"_What the hell?_" he croaked in outrage, "What was that about? What the hell were you doing and what the hell is that _thing_ on your belt?"

The last were the words Grace dreaded to hear. She depressed the button. The lights flashed and Riker's face went slack. Grace shook her head in pity before speaking.

"You will forget that I attacked you and most importantly, you'll forget you saw my attuner in action. It was simply a tricorder. I was testing the repairs I completed on the isolinear rods. Do you understand?"

Riker nodded dumbly.

"Good." she started pulling her hair back into a tail.

Riker blinked several times then shook his head, "Grace?"

"Sir?" she asked innocently.

"What am... " he shook his head again, "Never mind. Good work on Ops. Nice idea sending a data stream through using your tricorder." He coughed

"Are you all right?"

Riker rubbed his throat, "Just a sore throat. I'd better go see Kort. I can't afford to get sick."

"Good idea." she agreed, cursing herself for not repairing the tissue damage around his larynx.

"Well, I'm off. Carry on." with that, he left.

_Hopefully Kort'll chalk it up to a battle injury,_ she thought miserably but knew better. The jig was almost up. Her teammates would soon discover her true identity… and her true loyalties. _Hell, Macen probably already knows._

* * *

For someone attributed with a lot of knowledge, Macen was spending his time reflecting on what he _didn't _know. In order, those things were: 1) how to get out of his cell, 2) how the rest of his team was, and 3) how to complete his mission now that it was compromised by an unknown alien presence. He assumed he'd make a break for it when the opportunity presented itself. The _when _part of the equation was the greatest worry.

His thoughts kept lingering on the status of the rest of the team. With the ground team ferreted out, it wouldn't be long before they began combing the spacelanes. These unknown aliens posed a potential threat in this matter as well as in others. They may have transferred over cloaking spoofing technology. With communications cut off, that left the separate units of the team on their own.

Macen knew Daggit and Dracas had been captured alongside him. After the interrogation, he knew T'Kir was still free. Or, she had been as of his meeting with Alaric and Ezexial. His thoughts lingered on T'Kir more than any other subject.

He inwardly berated himself for not confessing the depth of his feelings for her. Even if they were not reciprocated, and he strongly suspected they were, it would have been a necessary cleansing of the air between them. He felt inordinately concerned for her. It was selfish, he knew, since most of the escalated tensions derived from his unrequited desire to bare his soul.

Little did Macen know that his fate had already been discussed and decided.

* * *

"I respectfully disagree." Alaric protested, "The aliens could still prove useful. We haven't interrogated this 'Macen's' companions yet."

"My decision has been made." Augustus Romulus declared hotly, "If I did not know you from my childhood, I would suspect you of disrespecting your emperor."

Ezexial smiled as Alaric coloured under his liege's chiding, "Forgive me Caesar. I meant no disrespect."

"And I disagree." Ezexial's smile turned decidedly nasty, "I believe the good Admiral has been swayed by the prisoner's charms. He also hasn't seen the reports of the woman who escaped custody earlier today. The same woman who expertly manipulated our central data net. I believe she too is in league with the prisoners. They aren't here as observers. They're here to topple you Caesar. They must be executed."

"I agree." Romulus nodded, "And as long as they're going to die, they might as well provide some sport in the process. They will face the arena, and with any luck and the gods' intervention, they will die with honour."

"I suspect they will surprise us all, my Emperor." Alaric warned, "This could prove a mistake."

"Treason." Ezexial hissed.

Romulus' eyes narrowed as Alaric spoke again, "I humbly remind my Emperor that he is still a man and that men make mistakes."

"Such as speaking out of turn?" Romulus suggested, "Leave us my friend, and reflect on the fact that our friendship is all that prevents me from misconstruing your words."

Alaric bowed his head, "As you wish my Lord."

As Alaric departed, Ezexial sidled up alongside the young ruler, "He's growing far too arrogant."

"As do you my alien friend." Romulus countered, "You have much to offer my world, but you have not served me or my family half as long as Alaric. Whatever differences you two have, work them out. If I am forced to choose between you, then things will fare poorly for you. Am I understood?"

Ezexial bowed low, "Eminently so."

* * *

T'Kir blinked in surprise over the data on her screen. How anyone as security conscious and paranoid as the Romans could have missed this. Someone in northern Germania was making subspace transmissions to multiple locations _outside _the Empire. Earlier, a massive conference had been held linking all the various transmission sites.

T'Kir suddenly knew she'd found her potential ally. Only the Romans possessed subspace transmitters. While these transmissions could be between covert operatives and their handler, T'Kir doubted. The bureaucracy would have placed the Imperial transmission closer to Nova Roma, not to mention the lack of any documentation regarding these signals.

This was a private operation. T'Kir would, and was about to, stake her life and the lives of her teammates on it. T'Kir guessed someone was uniting all of Rome's enemies into one army, and if today's signal was any clue, they were almost ready to move. T'Kir had to get to northern Germania fast and co-ordinate Macen's release with these rebels. Some experts might have a problem with her offering technical support and information in exchange for her comrades' liberation but then again, T'Kir was neither an expert on the Prime Directive nor did she consider it much in effect after the _Beagle _landing.

Dracas could certainly build the rebels all sorts of destructive gadgets and upgrades. Daggit could drill their troops and Macen… Even captive, Brin had undoubtedly unearthed valuable intelligence and insights. T'Kir herself could demonstrate their continued communications vulnerabilities and offer methods of correcting them. She couldn't imagine being turned down.

Now it was just a matter of arranging transportation. She still had the credit line she's established for herself while in Nova Roma. Deducing that her first attempt at forging a bank line had nearly resulted in her capture, she'd been far more careful on her second and third attempts. She felt she could tap into these accounts with impunity. She just didn't dare draw out too much capital for fear of once again drawing unwanted attention.

She'd research the necessary travel costs and expenses and utilise both accounts to meet the end amount. Afterwards, she'd establish new accounts with different lenders. If caught, she knew fraud would be the least of the charges brought against her. She'd probably be executed outright upon first glimpse of her ears. Spock had been effectively demonised since his encounter in the Roman arena.

Once again, T'Kir found being a Vulcan working against her. Then again, her natural stamina was also why she'd been able to stay awake for thirty-six hours straight. There upsides and downsides to everything. She'd have to ask Brin his opinion on being El-Aurian when they were reunited.

She couldn't imagine not being reunited with him. It was too painful to conceive of. She cursed herself for not telling him of her feelings before they ventured forth on this stupid mission,. She'd kept silent too long. It was time to heed Lisea Danan's advice and tell him how much she loved him.

But first, she needed to buy a train ticket.

* * *

Macen sat upright on his bunk when he heard the rattle of keys outside his door. The lock mechanism released and the door swung open. This time there were four guards, all heavily armed. The closest guard returned the keys to her belt.

"Come on, get moving." she ordered tersely.

"Where am I moving to?" Macen asked.

"The arena." she replied with a feral smile, "You and your friends are going to provide some entertainment as you die."

_Oh joy, _Macen thought morosely as he rose to follow the guards.


	10. Chapter 10

151

Macen wondered if the Romans knew what they were getting into. Despite a lack of formal training with edged weapons, Daggit's enhanced reflexes and strength would make him utterly devastating in the gladiatorial pit. Dracas' people still routinely settled disputes with their blade/picks. The man had been a knife fighter since adolescence.

Macen himself was no piker when it came to swordplay. Though little known in the Federation, El-Aurians routinely practised with a sword-like instrument. It was a neural rod, meant for stunning an opponent. It was quite a popular sport on El-Auria before its assimilation.

Combining elements similar to fencing and Zen swordplay, _Farish_ would have been easily learned by an enthusiast of either technique. Macen himself had been an apt pupil with the _Fari_, but he had fared poorly with the _Farii_. Essentially a charged quarterstaff, Macen had stunned himself as often his opponent. He hadn't handled either in nearly ninety years but muscle memory took a long time to fade. He had little doubt he would acquit himself nicely with the traditional Roman shortsword.

Macen could only foresee Daggit or T'Kir being deadlier with a blade. Grace's inhuman reflexes would give her a tremendous advantage but her willingness to plunge her blade into another being's flesh remained untested. The others, Macen included, had already been tested and tried many times. Although Macen loathed the taking of life, he wouldn't shrink from it either. In his line of work, it was necessary far more often than not.

One bright note was that he was about to be reunited with Daggit and Dracas while hopefully not T'Kir. The guards' reference to rejoining his friends undoubtedly referred to the Special Ops expert and the engineer. Macen had an intuitive feeling T'Kir was still loose and affecting their release. He also had a gut level hunch he wouldn't like the arrangements of said release. Macen doubted even T'Kir could free them on her own. This meant she'd have to enlist allies.

The only enticement she had to offer was the team's superior technical skills. Any enemy of Rome would gladly jump at the chance to equalise Rome's technological superiority. The same superiority achieved through accidental and intentional alien intervention. Whoever elected to accept T'Kir's offer would have access to a knowledge base far more advanced than the assimilated _Beagle _crew and the wreckage of their craft.

The strange alien with Star Admiral Alaric would prove the ultimate key to success in defying Rome. What kind of technology transfers had these mysterious aliens granted Nova Roma? What kind of tech base were the aliens coming from? What were their ultimate plans for this beleaguered world?

It was these kinds of questions that nagged at Macen as he followed the guards to the Gladiators' Armoury. Once inside, the guards spread out while the armourer kitted Macen out. A trip to the dressing room revealed Daggit and Dracas had already been here. Their clothes lay neatly tucked and folded on the bench seat.

Macen removed his clothes and donned the traditional Gladiator's garb: a grey tunic and pants. Exiting the dressing room, Macen was swiftly measured by the armourer. He was given a traditional leather breastplate and finger-less gloves. He declined the offered helmet but accepted the shortsword, which he immediately began sharpening. Once done, he followed the lead guard towards the Armoury's other exit.

"Go in peace, and die with honour." the guard intoned sombrely, placing a closed fist on her chest.

"Strength and honour." Macen replied gravely, surprising the guard.

Macen walked up the small ramp that led to the arena. Kirk, Spock and McCoy had described the Nova Romans' arena as a set with cameras all around it. This had dramatically changed over the last century. The new arena played to the live spectators as much as the broadcast audience. Roughly half the size of the Coliseum on Earth, it still had seating capacity for twenty thousand rabid fans.

And rabid they definitely were. The auditorium was less than half-filled but the noise inside was deafening. Fans held placards decrying the "alien scourge". Ironic, since the commander of the Praetorian Guard was himself (herself?) an alien. Macen spotted two armoured figures standing silently on the field, taking in the sights.

Macen walked over and Daggit gave a mock salute, "Glad to see you alive, sir."

"Same here Rab." Macen turned toward Dracas, "Are you all right Chief?"

Dracas gave him a wry smile, "I wish I could say, 'never better' but I can think of friendlier moments."

"They do seem eager don't they?" Macen mused, "I suggest we don't give them the satisfaction they want. To victory!"

Macen raised his sword in the air, as did Dracas. Daggit had opted for a trident with a dagger for his _coup de gras _weapon. The crowd cheered wildly at the sight of the aliens waving their weapons about. Most of the Federation prisoners had dropped their weapons at the first sight of their opponents and had been subsequently slaughtered. They detected a different sort of animal in the ring now.

"Whatever they throw at us, no mercy and no surrender. Understood?" Macen's tone was fierce as the message.

Three men emerged from the Gladiator's Armoury. All three were armoured and helmeted. Two swords and a mace made up their weaponry. They slowly approached the spot where the SID team members stood waiting.

The three gladiators warily sized up the team, their grips tightening on their weapons.

"Let's take them now!" Dracas hissed.

"No." Macen's voice restrained him as effectively as a limb; "The game hasn't started yet. See the men and women in the stands sporting phase rifles? They'll kill us where we stand if we don't adhere to the rules."

"Which are?" Daggit whispered.

"Fight against a single combatant unless in a team event, do not assist your fellow gladiators and do not attack the crowd." Macen explained.

"How do you know any of this?" Dracas asked in exasperation.

"Kirk made some fairly thorough notes about the arena and its codes of conduct." Macen replied, "I brushed up on my way here just in case."

"Could've warned me." Dracas muttered brusquely.

Privately, Macen wondered why it was taking so long to begin. When he saw the young figure surrounded by Praetorians and the hulking alien from his interrogation. Alaric followed along, as well as a female servant that seemed to be sporting the biggest freckles Macen had ever...

"Isn't that..?" Daggit hissed.

Macen slowly nodded, "Lisea Danan. Now we know where she ended up."

"Yeah, but how hard did she have to try?" Dracas mumbled.

"Stow it Chief." Macen warned in a growl, "Or I'll do it for you. Danan's no traitor."

"Didn't she dump you?" Dracas asked, Macen nodded, "So why are you defending her?"

"Because I know her." was all Macen said.

* * *

Trumpets blared and the young noble, presumably the Emperor of this backwater world, rose, "Welcome once again to the Imperial Arena. I wish you happiness and health as we watch virtue tested once more."

With that said, Romulus sat down motioned for Danan to attend him. She was slow off the mark because the sight of Macen and his fellows on the field transfixed her. A Praetorian delivered a sharp nudge to her ribs, urging her on. She stood alongside the young Emperor while he ate fruit from a basket she held. She felt an overwhelming sense of guilt.

_Macen wouldn't be here if our ship hadn't been captured_, she thought. _I don't see T'Kir down there. He wouldn't travel without her, so she must be running around loose. I wonder if there's any way I can contact her?_

The Arena's Master of Ceremonies stepped up to the mike Romulus had just abandoned, "Lords and Ladies throughout the Empire, tonight we bring you a true spectacle. No more weaklings or striplings, this evening we bring you the true scourge of the heavens. Alien infiltrators who by appearances alone cannot be separated from the average citizen. We bring you these otherworldly killers so that you can share his Imperial Majesty's pleasure in seeing them brought to justice. Our local champions will face a match that has been unheralded since the demon Kirk and his Starfleet devils fought our valiant warriors and lost. Tonight we fight not only for sport but for the Empire itself. Are you ready?"

The crowd answered with a deafening roar, "I thought as much." the MC smiled smugly, "Death and Honour gentlemen, the match has begun."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the three gladiators attacked the team. The Mace came at Daggit, whirling his bludgeoning tool through the air. Unexpectedly, Daggit found the trident wrest from his grasp on the very first blow. He leapt back into a crouch and pulled the dagger from his boot.

Dracas was assaulted by the second of the two shortsword wielders. The other man's stabbing thrusts were easy to deflect but tiring all the same. Retreating, he tripped over Daggit's lost trident and went down hard. No sooner had the dust lifted then the swordsman was upon him.

* * *

Macen engaged in a game of dodge, thrust, and parry with his foe. Both combatants were holding back, waiting for the other to reveal a weakness. Macen obliged by lowering his sword slightly and leaning off to the side. Sensing his opponent's over-balanced position, the gladiator attacked with all his might.

Macen deftly returned his full weight to both feet and rolled off to the side as the opposing gladiator over-extended his thrust. Macen carried his roll to completion and swung the sword in his grip. Having the blade face downward from its previous position, he jabbed it into the gladiators exposed ribs. Macen slowly turned to face his enemy and snatched the man's sword from his grasp. Macen withdrew his own sword from the man's gullet then slashed both blades across his throat.

The crowd gasped as Macen calmly turned to watch Dracas' struggled. The Chief had managed to place a double-legged kick into his opponent's chest, propelling him backward. While separated from his enemy, the gladiator watched Macen dispatch his partner. With a guttural cry of rage, the gladiator charged Macen. Macen flipped both swords in his hand, held them by the blades, and then threw them.

The two swords struck the rushing gladiator in the chest before the guards could fire a single particle blast. He slowly sank to his knees, then keeled over. Dracas rose and dusted himself off while Macen pulled his two swords from the other man's chest. Dracas shook his head as he approached.

"I thought you said we couldn't help one another."

"We can't." Macen replied grimly as he wiped sweat from his brow, "He attacked me. That changes everything."

"Whatever." Dracas dismissed the notion, then waved towards the crowd, "We've certainly garnered their attention."

"Yup." Macen agreed distractedly, the Mace was still chasing Daggit around, "Imagine of we were a trio of Klingons or Andorians."

"Ye gods, man." Dracas chuckled, "We'd be the star attractions for years."

. "Maybe decades." Macen amended.

"So, do you think we should help out Rab?" Dracas asked with a touch of nervousness.

"Despite your feelings or fears, Daggit's a big boy. He slogged his way through both the Tarsian and Dominion wars." Macen reminded him, "After facing off with Jem'Hadar, I think he can handle a mere human gladiator."

Dracas reacted with stony silence, then spoke in a hushed voice, "How long have you known?"

"Since before the Andergani captured you." Macen shrugged, "Rab doesn't have a clue. That part is up to you."

Dracas pondered that for a moment before replying, "Is he open to the idea?"

Macen chuckled, "Who knows? He's open to a lot but the tricky part is getting passed his guilt over what he is. That'll be the major hurtle if you decide to pursue things. Even if you don't, you'll find we'll protect you from your home government. So feel free to pursue whomever you will. You deserve happiness in your life, not fear."

Dracas was stunned, "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything." Macen prompted.

Dracas nodded in silence and watched his friend dispatch the third gladiator.

* * *

Daggit rolled out of the way as the mace descended. He slashed outward with the knife and nicked his opponent's calf. Daggit could have severed the tendon but chose not to. If he ended this match too swiftly then his full abilities would be revealed. But as he rose out of his crouch, he watched Macen slay two gladiators in under a minute.

That surprised him. He'd have never guessed Macen for having any skill with a blade. Yet his commander took to the sword like a natural. He hadn't even tried.

The mace was swinging again. This time in an arc designed to catch him under the jaw. Daggit spun away, still not engaging. This was repeated once, then twice, and a third time before the crowd grew restless.

"Kill him!" an audience member shouted and it spread through the seats like a mantra.

Now came the swing and the miss. Daggit stepped in and stabbed his opponent through the heart. He recognised the death rattle in the gladiator's lungs as the man fell to his knees. Daggit lifted the mace off of him and then smashed it down upon the gladiator's helmet. The bone jarring impact hastened his death.

Daggit jogged over to where Macen and Dracas stood waiting. Judging from Dracas' face they'd been having an interesting discussion but now they'd both fallen silent. Dracas seemed introspective while Macen… Macen studied the crowd and the Emperor's Box with an expectant look.

"Destroy them!" Ezexial hissed into Romulus' ear. "My troops can cut them down where they stand."

"Don't be so hasty." Alaric cautioned, "By law and custom, they've won the match and the right to live another day."

"Alaric is right." Aurelius mused with a smirk, "They've shown courage, and that must be rewarded. They will face the games again tomorrow. Perhaps their fortunes will turn."

Danan's shoulders sagged ever so subtly with relief. Neither Romulus nor Ezexial noticed but the corner of Alaric mouth quirked upward in a lopsided grin. She cursed inwardly. Letting her emotions, any emotions, show before the enemy was a stupid mistake. What if they were to use her against Brin? That chivalrous idiot would probably accede to the Roman demands.

Romulus rose and approached the mike, "Citizens, we have new champions. Join us tomorrow when they again face the rigours of the arena in a new test of stamina and courage!"

What 'test of stamina'?" Dracas whispered.

"How long does it take them to die." Macen replied clinically, "We'll face a new match every day until all of us are dead."

"Wonderful." Dracas muttered bitterly.

The arena guards approached them while the Emperor and his entourage rose and left. Macen spared one last glance towards Danan. Her face was rigid and set. Seeing Alaric grinning conspiratorially down at him, Macen had a good idea why Lisea was upset. Despite his misgivings, Macen automatically trusted Alaric and knew that the Admiral's deductions wouldn't be used against him or the team.

* * *

"Status?" Riker asked.

From Ops, Lucarno double checked his displays, "All systems green."

"Engine room?" Riker asked via intercom.

"Ready, sir." Thool answered.

"Grace," Riker intoned gravely, "take us out."

"Course heading once we're free to navigate?" Grace asked with a pang of guilt over earlier.

"The Sigma Iotia system." Riker explained, "We're going shopping for allies."

"The Iotians?" Grace asked.

"Yes." Riker replied smugly.

"Who the hell are the Iotians?" Radil demanded.

"A race of gangsters and thugs." Riker replied glibly, "You'll love them."

"Thanks." Radil replied caustically.

* * *

Back in the cell ward, Macen was now placed in a common cell with Daggit and Dracas. The cell contained four bunk beds, which meant there was room for five more prisoners. No one seriously expected any native gladiators to be placed with the "alien scourge" and no one held out any hopes for there being any more alien prisoners.

"So now what?" Dracas asked once the guards had departed.

"We survive until we can escape." Macen replied matter-of-factly.

"And if we can't?"

"Survive or escape?" Macen inquired, "Because one of those questions has a fairly obvious answer."

"Escape of course!" Dracas nearly exploded.

"We may have friends out there." Macen hinted without saying names, "Who have a vested interest in our release. They'll work on our behalf."

"How can you be certain?" Daggit asked quietly.

"Because I _feel_ it." Macen tried to explain, "I'd know if we were alone."

"Okay then." Daggit agreed, "We have friends out there."

"You're both delusional." Dracas accused as he lay down on his chosen bunk.

* * *

In the Security Office, Ezexial replayed their conversation. He noted that Macen never mentioned _who _his friends were. He undoubtedly suspected monitoring devices. Ezexial's job would be a lot simpler if the Romans recognised who their masters were.

_They will soon enough, _Ezexial reminded himself, _then they'll march to my orders._

* * *

The _Eclipse _was challenged by a _Constitution_-class analogue upon reaching the Iotian border. Although the ship design predated the starship refits Starfleet underwent during the 2270's, the ship displayed the same power signatures as a post-refit _Constitution_-class. When the viewer came to life, however, it displayed a bridge setting from the 2260's.

The starship commander also wore the gold, command department tunic/miniskirt popular during that period; "This is Captain Jamie Kirk of the Iotian Starfleet vessel, _ISS Enterprise_. Place state your identity and purpose in our sector."

Riker straightened his tunic before replying to the blue-eyed blonde, "I'm Captain Thomas Riker of the Federation privateer _SS Eclipse_. We've travelled to Iotia to discuss a business opportunity with your leaders."

When the original Captain Kirk of the _USS Enterprise_ came across Iotia, he'd found a world modelled after a book left behind by previous Earth explorers. That book, _Gangsters of the Roaring 20's_, had become The Book and every facet of Iotian life revolved around its contents. Kirk had eventually secured visitation rights for Federation sociologists by unifying the planet's various gangsters into a world government. The Federation visits were ostensibly to collect their "piece of the action", a percentage of the gross planetary product dedicated for Iotian education and reformation. What no one had counted on was Dr. McCoy leaving his communicator behind.

This act allowed the Iotians to dissect the transtator and build a subspace communications array. Tapping into the Federation relay left behind for the use of the Federation observers, "Overbosses", the Iotians were able to peruse Federation records and technical data. Discovering that the Federation Charter protected their previous lifestyles, if not actually promoted by it, they happily translated their mobster mentality into spacefaring terms. Using the pirated technical details, they built their first warp engine a mere fifty years after Kirk's visit and the Federation's introduction to the planet.

As a warp culture, they were no longer bound by the restrictions of the Prime Directive. They were also not eligible for Federation membership. Making another technological leap, the Iotians launched three _NX_-class analogues. These ships began charging "protection" money to hapless traders plying the local spacelanes. Next, they travelled to nearby, and less advanced, worlds and began charging them for defence contracts whereby the fledgling Iotian Starfleet would defend their worlds from outside attack.

Fifty years after their launch into space, the Iotians now had fourteen client worlds and had tripled their borders. The Iotian Starfleet currently consisted of six _Constitution_-class analogues, three _NX_-class ships, twelve _Mercury_-class cruisers and six _Daedalus_-class recreations. Although a century behind Federation standards, these ships demonstrated a two hundred year technological leap that occurred in a mere fifty years. Once the Iotian taps into the Federation relay were discovered, the relay was cut off from the Federation datanets but the damage had already been done. The Iotians had been loosed upon an unsuspecting Quadrant.

Riker had looked all of this up before deciding the Iotians were the perfect candidates for helping taking down the Nova Romans. They weren't members of the Federation, and therefore not subject to the quarantine surrounding the 492 system. They were also adventuristic and hard to intimidate. And best of all, they could be bought with little fear of betrayal.

"I'm here offering a large contract with substantial profit potential." Riker added.

"Follow my ship." Kirk instructed dubiously, "We'll discuss your offer at Starfleet HQ."

"Lead and I'll follow." Riker replied jovially, _if only all my 'allies' looked that good._

.


	11. Chapter 11

165

The Iotian Starfleet's HQ proved to be an orbital installation. It was a pyloned structure reminiscent of the Federation's _K-7_ station rather than Earth's mushroom-like _Stardock_. The _Enterprise _took up station alongside the facility. The _Eclipse _was directed to one of the station's smaller docking ports.

Once the docking clamps took hold, an umbilical secured itself to the _Eclipse's_ docking hatch. This provided an access gantry as well as the power and life support connections to the station. When the primary hatch opened, Riker wasn't surprised to see Kirk waiting for him with her arms crossed across her chest.

It was an understatement to say Riker found Kirk attractive. Despite his professional demeanour, he'd been smitten by her since first viewing her on the _Eclipse's _screen. Her hair fell to her shoulders, having been released from the tight bun she'd worn aboard her own command. For once, Riker was at a loss as to what to say.

Kirk spared him the agony of trying to determine what to say next, "C'mon, we don't have all day. Follow me and we'll see Admiral Oxmix."

"I'd like to bring my senior officers as well." Riker informed her.

She gave him a curt nod, "Very well, two unarmed officers would be acceptable."

Riker tapped his comm badge while ignoring the classic Type I phaser hanging on her belt, "Radil and Kort, report to the docking hatch."

"Right behind you Skipper." Radil casually replied.

"How..?"

"Didn't take a genius." Radil remarked with a victorious grin.

"Very well." Riker sighed, "Fall in behind me."

"As my Prefect commands." she gibed.

Riker let it go, choosing to focus on a bemused Kirk, "After you."

* * *

T'Kir pulled her hood tighter about her head as she disembarked from the train. She'd purchased the fur-lined coat before setting forth from Nova Roma. Every aspect of the coat presented an atrocity to Vulcan sensibilities. It was little wonder she liked it so much. She'd always been more akin to a Romulan than a Vulcan. Perhaps it came from growing up on a mixed colony of Vulcan dissidents and Romulan defectors.

The province of Germania officially ended at the southern bank of the Rhine. Greater, or "Free", Germania lay north of that. The ostensibly pacified Germans hosted the Romans' Armies of the North. These armies watched over Norseland, Greater Germania, and the Roman Provinces of Brittania and Eire. Rusland also fell under their jurisdiction by default. In actuality, the Home Legions of Nova Roma kept a sharp eye on Britania and the unruly Scots that filled her northern region. It was at the very heart of the Northern Armies' Command that the secret transmissions originated at.

Also included in the recipients' list were Chung Koa, and Persia, as well as the Zulu Empire of southern Africa. A regular Who's Who of Rome's enemies. Only the North and Southern American continents were left out since the Preservers neglected to place anyone there. Both the Danish Norsemen and the Roman Legions had reached North America. Only Rome was left standing. Her rule of South America went unchallenged.

Every inhabitant on this Earth lived under a monarch's heel. Rome's affluence only strengthened her enemies' resolve. T'Kir knew enough of Earth's history to know that this isn't how it happened there. It was similar enough to send chills down her spine.

_If Earth had followed this path, would the Federation be an Empire instead?_ she asked herself. Perhaps this is how the Terran Empire of the Mirror Universe began. She'd never know. Interaction with the Mirror Universe was strictly proscribed. _Doesn't seem to stop the crew of _DS9, she thought crossly.

T'Kir collected her bags and stopped at the local ATM. Inputting her credit line's code, she withdrew a small, but sizeable enough, sum to put her up for the night and finance her search for the Northern Armies' HQ. She'd make another withdrawal on another account tomorrow before hiring a ride to the base. After seeing last night's gladiatorial bout on television, she knew she didn't have much time.

T'Kir almost couldn't bear to watch the televised broadcast on the train. Then she'd remembered Macen telling about _Farish_. After that, she knew he'd be fine. It was still a brutal spectacle and it had turned her stomach.

And wasn't the rich irony? After years as the Psycho Vulcan in the Maquis, she was getting squeamish. After a moment's reflection, she realised that her objections stemmed more from the danger to Macen than the actual combat. Reading a Vulcan text was more than enough to inure one to the concept of bloodsports.

Now was not the time for such considerations. Now it was time to find the mysterious rebels. She hailed a passing cab. Getting in, she asked to go to the nearest border checkpoint.

* * *

Not for the first time, Riker wished Radil had opted to wear a more conservative version of the Outbound Ventures uniform. Typically, everyone wore black utility pants with either a black T-shirt or a surplus grey turtleneck. Macen often wore a surplus Starfleet Captain's sweater. Radil wore black shorts and tank top coupled with her double holster.

She drew stares as Kirk led them through the Iotian Starfleet Command's station. It wasn't due to her weaponry either. Every Iotian Starfleet officer they passed wore a century old Type II phaser on their belt. Not that the staring was exclusive, Kort drew nearly as many glances as Radil.

"We're here." Kirk announced suddenly. Riker chastised himself for being so caught up in his own thoughts.

"Thank you Captain." he smiled with all the considerable charm he could muster.

Kirk gave him a curt nod in return and motioned towards the door, "After you."

"Ladies first." Riker continued to lay it on.

"No." Kirk replied with a cold smile, her hand dropping to her phaser, "_I _insist."

Unsettled, Riker stepped forward, triggering the door's actuator. It slid aside, revealing a large office within. Admiral Oxmix sat behind a large oak-like desk and smiled like a well-fed _sehlat_. He motioned for Riker and the others to step closer. The door slid shut behind Jamie Kirk.

"Well, well, what kind of strays have you brought me today, Jamie?" Oxmix chuckled. Riker guessed him to be between 50-60 years in age.

"Feds, sir." Kirk replied crisply, "And they claim to have a job opportunity."

"A job, eh?" Oxmix mused with a twinkle in his eye, "What kind of job?"

"Just your type." Riker grinned with new confidence, "Like yourselves, we're what you might call private security 'consultants'. The Feds hired us to investigate and neutralise a planet called Nova Roma in the 492 system."

"Never heard of it." Oxmix replied.

"We can provide star charts." Riker said dismissively, "The point is, we're a small outfit and the jobs too big for us."

"How big?" Oxmix asked dubiously.

"Twelve starships." Riker answered, "And several terrestrial armies. They won't pose much of a threat after their so-called 'Star Legions' are knocked out."

"What kind of profit margin are we talking here?" Oxmix rose, interest piqued.

"You'd be supplying the lion's share of the manpower, so you'd get the largest percentage of the contract." Riker seemed to count figures in his head, "Say, 75%, that's factoring in a finder's fee for my team, and whatever reparations that you slap Nova Roma with."

"Reparations, huh?" Oxmix mulled this over, "Tell ya what, draw up the figures and whatever info you have on these 'Nova Romans' and my staff'll look `em over first thing."

"So you'll consider it?"

"That's what I just said." Oxmix insisted, "You got a hearin' problem pallie."

"He merely misunderstood your… dialect." Kort clarified.

Oxmix appraised him, "A Klingon huh? Never met one'a you bruisers before. You the Security Chief?"

"I am the Chief Medical Officer." Kort growled.

"Really?" Oxmix's surprise was plain to see, "Go Figure. What about you dollface? Communications?"

Radil snatched Oxmix's wrist and bent it unnaturally; "I'm a Tactical Officer. Communications is just one part of the job. Squeezing disrespectful little pimples like yourself is the other, more enjoyable, part."

Kirk snagged her phaser of her belt and aimed it at Radil, "Let him go!"

Kort had his own phaser drawn, "Surrender your weapon."

Riker's head slumped into his hands just before Oxmix managed to chuckle through the pain, "Okay sweetheart, I give."

Radil released him but Kirk's aim remained steady as the Admiral rubbed his injured wrist, "Nice moves Darlin'. I think I can work with you folks."

Kirk's surprised, "Sir?" raced with Riker's stunned, "What?"

"You people know what you want and don't take any crap." Oxmix grinned, "I respect that. Kirk here will help you gather up the intel and draw estimates and then you two can present it to my staff, let say in two hours?"

Riker nodded, "Easily."

Kirk holstered her phaser with a stunned expression, "Yessir."

"You can put your gun away now, Sonny." Oxmix told Kort.

The doctor snarled as he complied.

* * *

T'Kir crossed the border without incident. She was now ostensibly outside the Roman Empire. Upper Germania had been occupied since the late 15th century as converted into Terran timekeeping since the Provincials, Legionnaires and various peoples gathered by the Preservers had maintained their traditional calendar dates. There had been unrest since that time. The "free" Germans chafed at having to host the Armies of the North and at being their Scandinavian cousins' primary target when striking at Rome.

It was an arrangement, like most Nova Roma entered into, where the Empire received all the benefit. The medical and technological advances that had been promised during the surrender were largely suppressed as in other client nations. Rome was to remain penultimate in every facet of life in order to force all other to bow before her. Even the knowledge that Nova Roma was a pale shadow of a long fallen empire did little to quell this drive. It had, however, inspired hope within the breasts of Rome's enemies.

T'Kir desired to bring even more hope. Her offer of weapons designs superior to those of the Romans would undoubtedly enable the varied embattled and beleaguered nations a chance to overthrow the colossus. T'Kir's research had revealed that many of Rome's rival empires weren't much kinder or gentler but at least they were indigenous. It also depended on the plans these erstwhile allies had already made.

Rome had remained superior for centuries by playing her enemies off of one another like a puppetmaster. She'd even throw in with one side or another when it suited her purposes. If the subspace communication logs were any indication, someone had finally gotten them past all of that. T'Kir had monitored the amount of correspondence while on her way here, and the traffic was increasing. Events were coming to a head and she had to move quickly in order to capitalise on the opportunities presented

Finding transportation to the Armies' HQ proved easier than she expected. Local produce vendors and butchers sent shipments to the encampment on a daily basis. 60,000 Legionnaires had a lot of stomachs to fill. T'Kir merely purchased a seat aboard one of the transports headed out the next day.

With that taken care of, she sought a room for the night. Again, this proved far easier than expected. T'Kir's accent may have marked her as a foreigner but it also marked her as a non-Roman. The Germans were far more accepting of anyone not wearing the stench of Rome.

T'Kir had traced the signals back to the personal transceiver of the General of the Northern Armies, Livia Germanicus. Two things were surprising about this: 1) a woman had reached staff level command in the Legions, and 2) she was from the southern German Province of the Rhineland. Both factors should have limited her to the rank of Brigade Commander.

Livia was fortunate in that her family were long associates of the Imperial family and that her brother, Alaric Vandalius, was the first Admiral of the Star Legions. These attributes had opened doors that would have been otherwise blocked by ferrocrete. On top of it, Livia was an outstanding commander. She'd never lost an engagement, even as a junior officer. She was an inspiration to the relatively few women serving in the Roman Legions.

_All that and a traitor to boot,_ T'Kir thought gleefully, _Can't wait to meet her._

Now all she had to do was wait and endure Macen's second gladiatorial bout.

* * *

"So, their technological base is roughly equivalent to ours?" Kirk asked.

Riker nodded, "Actually, your _Constitution_ and _Mercury_-class analogues are slightly superior. They, however, do have cloaking technology."

"And they bested your ship even though your technology exceeds them?" she asked sceptically.

"There were six of them, with more on the way." Riker explained, somewhat defensively.

Kirk nodded, "Understandable."

_Glad you agree_, Riker though sarcastically. Jamie Kirk was becoming less appealing all the time.

She studied the pictures of Macen, T'Kir, Daggit and Dracas displayed on the briefing room's main viewer, "So you left your commander and his team behind?"

"In order to get help." Riker replied, his nerves getting on edge.

She scrutinised Macen's image; "He seems very… complex. I wager there are depths to him that no image could ever convey."

T'Kir was next under the microscope, "The same with her. They know pain beyond description."

Riker was stunned as she returned her attention to him, "What?"

He shook his head, "I don't know. That analysis was very… _poignant_. How did you do it?"

She looked at him as though he truly were alien; "I'm a starship commander. It's my job to know people, to think like they do. Is this really such an alien concept to you?"

"No," he grudgingly admitted, "but it's more an art than a science. I have to admit I've rarely met a more gifted artisan." _Namely Deanna Troi_.

"I guess I should thank you, but all I really want to say is that you should brush up your own skills." Kirk said pensively.

Riker shook his head, "I can't believe I'm getting a lecture from you."

"Why?"

"You've wanted to be like us." Riker struggled to explain; "I guess its just weird wanting to be like you."

Kirk pondered this then nodded, "Sounds like a long overdue lesson."

Riker opened his mouth to reply then shut it. His jaw muscles worked as he formulated his next response. Finally, he settled on nodding back, "I guess you're right."

"The Federation Starfleet isn't really trained for these sort of encounters." Kirk added, "So it's a good thing you came to us."

Riker managed to smile, "I guess it is."

"We'd better get back to work." Kirk replied curtly, "The Admiral's expecting us."

"And I'd hate to disappoint." Riker grinned playfully.

"You'd better not." Kirk warned, "Otherwise you'll be looking at some pretty hefty fines besides transit fees."

Stunned, Riker chose the better part of valour and busied himself with data collation.

* * *

The presentation was a smashing success. Oxmix forwarded summaries of it to the rest of the Admiralty and Hereditary President Kracko. Since Oxmix was the Iotian Starfleet's Commander-in-Chief, the decision was already made. Orders went out and starships' were diverted. Jamie Kirk was temporarily bumped up to Commodore and appointed Fleet Commander.

Oxmix clapped Riker on the shoulder, "Looks like you've got yourself some allies."

"Thank god." Riker breathed, "After watching your people in action, I'd hate to have you as enemies."

"Don't you know it." Oxmix rumbled heartily.

Kirk gave Tom a conspiratorial wink. Suddenly she seemed much more attractive again.

* * *

As with every other aspect of life since entering Germania, T'Kir's trip to the Northern Armies HQ went astonishingly easy. Upon arriving at the gate, however, that all changed. T'Kir had forged a convincing courier packet marked "Eyes Only" for Livia. Despite containing all the proper codes and verification markers, it was still challenged at the gate. She sat in a bivouac alongside the main gate while sentries made the necessary calls.

It took nearly an hour, but she was finally cleared and escorted to Livia's tent. As counted on, the "Eyes Only" label had cleared away Livia's aides and moved their meeting to a private location. T'Kir was not disappointed by what she saw when she entered the General's tent. Livia was in her mid-thirties with chestnut hair, sea-blue eyes, and unmistakably German facial features.

"Well?" Livia asked in accented Latin, "Give it to me."

T'Kir handed over the package and waited while Livia opened it. While she did so, T'Kir assessed the silliness of wearing both a sword and a phase pistol. She wondered if the breastplate Livia wore was protection against particle weapons or merely blades. Macen and the boys had certainly proved last night how little protection the armour truly offered.

"There is nothing in here." Livia glared, hand reaching for her pistol.

"Ya might want to reconsider that." T'Kir advised.

"And why would I want to do that?" Livia's eyes narrowed as her grip on her pistol's grip tightened.

T'Kir threw back the hood of her coat, revealing her ears; "I don't know. Just a thought."

Livia gaped as her grip lost all tension, "Gods above." she whispered in slowly dawning comprehension.

"See, I know about your chats with what may be termed, 'enemies of the Empire'. I also know that if I can figure it out, so can someone else. I, however, can ensure that never happens."

"But why?" Livia stammered, still unnerved.

"I need a favour." T'Kir grinned, "Some friends of mine have been arrested. I need you to break them out."

Livia blinked in surprise, "Go on."

T'Kir's' smile grew wider, "General, have I got a deal for you. First off, you'll get weapons…"

* * *

The Iotian fleet was assembling. Four of the five other _Constitution_-class ships had gathered alongside the _Enterprise_. They were, in order of arrival, the _Kracko_, the _Chicago_, the_ Capone_, and the _Kelly_. The _Federation_ was still due to arrive. Half of the twelve _Mercury_-class ships were still en route to join their brethren.

While the _Constitution_-class ships amounted to heavy cruisers, the smaller _Mercury_ ships were their lighter cousins. Slightly over half the size of the larger starships, the light cruisers also sported a nacelle configuration not seen again in the UFP until the advent of the _Excelsior_ and _Ambassador_-class ships. The Iotians, although gifted at mimicry had done nothing to improve or alter their "borrowed" designs.

Tom Riker watched the work with a growing respect and awe for Jamie Kirk. Like her infamous namesake, she was the youngest captain on record with her service. She'd acquired her rank with the same attention to detail that she'd demonstrated earlier. Her keen insight enabled her to often circumvent problems before they arose. It was a talent Riker was grateful for as the fractious Iotians gathered together.

It was plain to see they still had far too much of the gangster mentality in their culture. Riker wondered how they managed to accomplish anything. The only saving grace was that they also accepted a CO's word like mob law. Disobedience could carry equally harsh penalties as well. It was a situation that made Riker doubt his earlier decision to incorporate the Iotians in his rescue plans.

.


	12. Chapter 12

177

Dracas' shoulders remained slumped as he, Daggit and Macen re-entered the Gladiator's Armoury. They'd survived their third bout in the arena. The guard's had laughed as they told them that this was their last night of single combat. Starting tomorrow evening, they would collectively face five armed opponents.

Dracas knew, just knew, that Macen and Daggit would each hurl themselves into combat with two assailants. Dracas was the oldest, and least skilled, swordsman among. Both factors had nearly gotten him killed on more than one occasion. Dracas was still twenty years younger than Captain Scott was when he finally retired, but that still ranked him as the "old" man of the ship. Macen and T'Kir both were older chronologically, but they were both younger in relative terms. Relatively speaking, they weighed in at half of Dracas' sixty years and right now he could feel every year.

"Hang in there Chief." Daggit said encouragingly, "We'll get through tomorrow."

_Only because you and Macen will carry the day,_ Dracas thought bitterly.

"Dracas," Macen broke his silence, "you're facing men half your age and you're overcoming them. That's nothing to be ashamed of. Neither is Daggit's enhanced abilities or my years of training with a sword. We each have our strengths and weaknesses out there. What we can't afford is despair or doubt. Either of these will kill us."

"Too late." Dracas grumbled.

Macen strode over to him and pulled him up off of the bench he was sitting on, "We're going to make it, Chief. Each of us, each doing our part. As long as stand together we'll be fine. We just have to hold out until they tire of this or help comes."

"All right." Dracas mumbled.

"I can't hear you mister!" Macen shouted into his face.

"All right!" Dracas yelled back.

"Good." Macen said with a nod, "Stay angry, it'll keep you alive."

* * *

T'Kir leaned over the display table, a beret perched atop her head, "So let me get this straight, your allies from Persia and the Middle Kingdom will simultaneously attack, driving through Rusland and the Near East, and assail Rome's eastern borders. The Scots will rebel in Brittania while supported by an invasion of Eirelanders. The Zulus will lead an uprising in central Africa and drive northwards while the Norse and the Free Germans gather around the elements of the Northern Armies loyal to you, and descend down Nova Roma. And you estimate 45,000-50,000 of your 60,000 troops will follow you, that about right?"

Livia nodded, replying in accented English, "Essentially."

"Ballsy." T'Kir whistled, "It has more potential holes in it than Swiss cheese, but ballsy."

"What do the Sweiss have to do with this, or anything?" Livia asked, "They were conquered long ago."

T'Kir sighed, "You people are too damned literal."

Livia's trusted subordinates bristled at that. Livia shook her head; "We are what we are, alien."

T'Kir's eyes narrowed, "Then listen to this: to _me_, _you're_ the aliens. Oddity is in the eye of the beholder. If you keep putting me at arm's length here, I can't help you. If I can't help you, you won't contact your Crusader allies in Nova Roma and I won't get the help I need."

Livia took a sharp breath, "Who told you that?"

T'Kir rolled her eyes, "C'mon, it wasn't hard to figure out. You need someone outside the military to observe conditions in the city and to revolt within the city, keeping both the Praetorian Guard and the Home Legion busy while you're rushing in to invade. The Crusaders are the only faction left within the Empire that hasn't already been tapped for your little plan. What did you offer `em, religious tolerance?"

Livia nodded, "That and autonomy within Britannia. They have made major inroads inside the Isles of Britannia and Eire. Perhaps letting the Crusaders and Catholics set up their own kingdoms will stem the tide of their expansion."

"Doubt it." T'Kir remarked.

"As do I, but such was the price of their co-operation." Livia shrugged, her eyes then narrowed, "Remind me again, why are your companions so valuable that I should risk the security of my plans in order to liberate them?"

T'Kir grinned, "Dracas is an engineer. Not just any kind of engineer, but a weapons expert. He can design a fabrication unit that will produce molecular disrupters. These will outmode your current phase pistols and allow you to 'generously' turn a supply of them over to your 'allies' after you've secured a stockpile of the newer weapons. Weapons, I might add, Starfleet no longer produces."

Livia nodded, "Proceed."

"Daggit is a soldier. Your star forces are long on theory and short on experience. Most of your boarding doctrine is based upon close quarters fighting inside buildings. Daggit can teach you how to deal with forcefields and gas as well as other obstacles you'll face on a modern starship." T'Kir explained.

"And the last?" Livia asked, "This 'Macen'?"

T'Kir tried not to sigh forlornly, "Macen is the leader. Although he hates to admit it, he's an excellent operations planner. He can examine your plans and fill any gaps in the current contingencies and help you exploit opportunities you haven't spotted yet. He's the lynch pin to the whole deal."

Livia smiled knowingly, "And now I understand you. You have been an enigma. Now I know what motivates you. It is not money or power, it is love. From what you have told me, you rebel against the norms of your people. I can relate to this. You are also accustomed to acquiring what you desire. This too I understand. You desire this man and you will not suffer his loss lightly. This I can appreciate. I will assist you, not because of your promises, which may prove false, but because I respect you. You have opened my eyes to new possibilities. Not all aliens are as untrustworthy as the Emperor's Omicrons. I thank you for this and will endeavour to help you however I can."

T'Kir swallowed hard, "Thank you. You have my gratitude."

Livia smiled, "Only your camaraderie is required."

* * *

"How many more days?" Riker asked in disbelief.

"Two." Kirk replied grimly, "The _Leonard McCoy _has developed a matter/antimatter intermix flow problem. It will require twenty-two hours to repair. After that, it'll take her four hours to get here. Calculate two hours to update her orders and acquaint her captain with our operational orders, six to eight hours to replenish her stores, and you're looking at roughly a forty-eight hour window."

Riker shook his head. Rather than marvelling at the similarity of the Iotian and Terran day, 24.7 hours vs. 24 hours, he was fuming over the unexpected delay, "Is there any chance of using another ship?"

Kirk shook her head in the negative; "The _McCoy_ is one of our _Montgomery Scott_-class ships, based upon your own _Mercury_-class designs. We need her speed and firepower. The only other ships that could be freed up are _Jonathan Archer _and _Benjamin Stiles_-classes."

Riker knew those to be _NX _and _Daedalus_-class analogues. The Nova Roman _Eagles_, so dubbed by Grace, would chew those ships up. The thought of Grace momentarily made Riker uneasy but he shrugged it off as "hurry up and wait" jitters. So far on this mission, the helmsman had performed above and beyond the call of duty.

"I'm sure your Starfleet could manage something more, but this is the best we neo-barbarians can do." Kirk retorted impatiently.

Riker held up his hands in surrender, "I didn't mean to seem judgmental. I'm just concerned about my fellow officers, it makes me a little impatient."

Kirk nodded sympathetically, "I understand. I cringe every time a member of my crew is being held by a hostile power."

"Does that happen a lot?" Riker wondered.

"All the time." Kirk sighed, "The universe really is an antagonistic place to live."

Riker nodded, "That thought crosses my mind every day."

Kirk suddenly looked inspired, "Have you ever thought about quitting covert ops

and starting up a new life? One out on the frontier?"

Riker grinned like a schoolboy, "Every day."

"Join the Iotian Starfleet!" Kirk suggested, "You'd be a cinch for your own command. We're about to launch the new _James Kirk_-class, based on your own _Constitution_-class refits, and you'd probably be the first to receive one."

"You don't even know what kind of commander I am." Riker demurred.

"I know people." Kirk defended, "I know you. I think this would be a wonderful idea."

"Why?"

"You're not happy in the Federation." she explained, "You're especially not happy with how Starfleet has treated you. You can't mention them without a slight sarcastic sneer. You want to be somewhere where you can be free. That place is here."

Riker shook his head, "We'll see."

"The offer will always be open." Kirk assured him.

* * *

"I have contacted the leader of the Crusaders, as well as my political patron in Nova Roma, they have agreed to assist you in your endeavour." Livia reported to T'Kir, "You will leave immediately in order to catch the midnight train back to Nova Roma." she held out a packet of documents, "Here are your rendezvous instructions and your travel documents. You will find a credit voucher included. This is billed to the discretionary funds of the Armies of the North. Use it wisely and with prudence."

T'Kir nodded her thanks, "Okay. What about clothes?"

"Garments will be provided to better make you appear as your chosen role as a

military courier." Livia explained, "We had best hurry and get you fitted."

"Thanks." T'Kir expressed honestly.

* * *

Hannah Grace found her life reduced to a constant state of paranoia. She kept

waiting for Kort to confront her over Riker's throat trauma. It had been a couple of days now yet the accusation hadn't appeared. Kort doubled as the team's forensic specialist. It shouldn't have been too hard for him to detect the fingerprint-laced bruises on Riker's throat. Why the hell hadn't anyone approached her?

"Grace?" she hear Kort's bass rumble as she exited the _Eclipse's _mess hall.

She turned to discover Radil standing alongside the troubled looking physician.

Radil, as usual, looked spoiling for a fight. _Wunderbar_, she mentally groaned in a native language of Magna Roma, _they're actually going to try a takedown_. _Fat chance!_

"Yes?" she palmed the attuner in her pocket and depressed the activation stud, "I

know there's no trouble because you have no evidence to suspect me of anything. Isn't that right?"

Both Kort and Radil nodded dumbly as Grace continued, "You were just coming

to ask how I was feeling since you've noticed I've been looking a little peked. That was unusual enough to worry you."

Kort and Radil snapped out of their trance and spoke in stereo, "Is everything all

right?"

"Yup." Grace answered with a sigh, "Just worried about T'Kir and the others.

She's my best friend and all, so knowing she's in danger is wearing on me."

"Never fear." Kort snarled, "We shall be rescuing them within a matter of days"

Grace nodded, "I know, but it doesn't stunt the jitters."

"Buck up." Radil suggested, "You'll get your chance to bust some heads soon

enough."

"Thanks you two, but I really should be headed back to the bridge."

Kort and Radil nodded and headed into the mess as Grace proceeded towards the

lift. _The things I do for the Kelvan Empire._

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Grace was weaving the _Eclipse_ in between the assembled _Constitution _and _Mercury_-class analogues. The Iotian fleet was almost completely gathered for their planned invasion. Nearly two-thirds of the entire Iotian Starfleet would be committed to this plan. If the Romans somehow mustered a more advanced force than the one the _Eclipse _had faced while escaping Magna Roman orbit, then Iotia would be left destitute.

Kirk stood alongside Riker as he sat in the command chair, drinking in the view, "Impressive."

Kirk nodded, emotions straining her throat, "The pride of Iotia."

"I can see why." Riker admitted, "They're beautiful."

"You ship is also a beauty." Kirk replied quickly, "It's so nimble."

_Oh, please, _Grace almost gagged, _take her to your quarters and be done with it._

A quick glance over her shoulder revealed that Radil felt ill as well. Grace shook her head and wondered if the two commanders knew how blatant their mutual attraction was. More to the point, did both of them realise how doomed their feelings were from the start? Riker's life was far from normal and precluded any regular visits to anywhere in the Federation much less Iotia.

_It'll all be over in a couple of days, _Grace fervently wished, _and everything will get back to "normal"._ Even as she thought it, she tasted the lie behind it.

* * *

T'Kir checked her gear one last time. She'd endured another broadcast gladiatorial bout while waiting for the train. Macen and the others were now the featured attraction. They were attracting a lot of attention and well as a lot of fans. It also meant a rise on the calibre of opponents. Daggit and Macen had visibly struggled while Dracas had floundered.

_They won't be able to keep this up much longer, _T'Kir realised with despair. At least now she was on the midnight mag-rail to Nova Roma. She'd be in the city in a few hours. Representatives of the Crusaders would meet her at the train depot.

Even in her private berth, T'Kir kept her coat's hood up. She'd be grateful to leave this bloody planet and be able to show her ears again. Livia's provisions alleviated most of the worries of her previous trip. Now it was just mobilising before one of the other members of the team died in the arena. T'Kir wasn't certain it could be done in time. She turned off the berth's lights with a discontented huff and tried to take a nap.

T'Kir woke with a yawn. She checked the status screen and discovered they were pulling into Nova Roma's northern train depot. This was her stop. She gathered up her belongings, fixed her hood, and exited for the main passageway. She joined the queue at the car's exit and waited for the train to come to a complete stop.

The wind lifted T'Kir's ankle-length coat to her knees as she stepped off the train. The platform was filled with many people despite the early hours. She moved away from the crowd in an effort to better identify her contacts. All she knew was that they had her description and would meet her here.

A minute passed, then another. T'Kir rocked back and forth on her heels as her patience wore thin. She noticed two labourers, judging by their manner and quality of dress, watching her. Had Livia's security precautions failed?

She knew Macen would never willingly give her up but what if he didn't know he was? According to Livia, these "Omicrons" that were advising the Emperor could wrest any information from someone if given enough time. Who knew what manner of tortures Macen and the others endured in between gladiatorial bouts? Then again, Livia's tales could simply be fear driven hyperbole.

T'Kir tensed and began identifying escape routes as the two men approached her. They stopped just short of arm's reach and fidgeted a bit. Seen up close, T'Kir could tell they were just as uncomfortable as she was. They were definitely her contacts, and amateurs at that.

"T'Kir?" the bolder of the two whispered at last.

"Yes." she replied confidently, trying to inspire her would-be caretakers to show a little bravado.

"We're supposed to take you to see the Pontiff." the same speaker informed her.

"I'm assuming that's your leader." T'Kir responded dryly.

The two Crusaders exchanged a wary glance, "Yes, Lady. Please follow us. Transportation is awaiting us."

Transportation proved to be a six-passenger aircar. Utilising magnetic repulsors rather than thrusters and impulse drivers, the car was far quieter than anything T'Kir was used to. It landed before the front portico of a rather sizeable manor house. It bespoke of money and influence; two commodities she'd assumed the Crusaders had in short supply.

Her expectations and assumptions elevated, she stepped out of the car and allowed herself to be guided to the house's entrance. On Earth, the style would have been labelled neo-classical. On Magna Roma, it was referred to as post-Republic. Architecture had remained stagnated in the name of orthodoxy for nearly two thousand years. Facades remained the same, only the interior fixtures and plumbing advanced.

The manor T'Kir was being led into outwardly followed the norms of the day, but its interior was a technological marvel only decades behind most Federation colonial dwellings. The DMZ had been filled with dwellings comparable to this one. A number of them, most notably Dorvan V, were less advanced. Needless to say, T'Kir felt right at home.

Only the decorating needed alteration. Portraits of past emperors and tapestries displaying the Roman eagle abounded. It seemed strange for the leader of the Crusaders to indulge in such "idolatry". Perhaps her research had misled her or she'd misinterpreted some vital clue.

"Ah, here's our guest." a middle-aged Roman in loose pants and tunic descended the spiral marble staircase that led to the living suites, "Show me you ears, dear, then we can get to business."

T'Kir recognised the man from a photo Livia had shown her. This was Germanicus' political sponsor, Flavius Brutus. He served as Livia's contact with the Crusader's Pontiff. T'Kir suddenly suspected he was far more than that.

"Does Livia know you're actually the Pontiff himself as well as a Roman Senator?" she asked.

Brutus stopped, nonplussed, then laughed, "Very good, dear girl. I sincerely pray you are who you purport to be or we shall have an issue betweenst us."

As Brutus reached the last of the stairs, T'Kir threw back her hood. Brutus gazed at her in wonder then clapped his hands in delight.

"How fortunate." he relaxed as he spoke, "I truly would have hated to have you executed for 'trespassing'."

"You and me both." T'Kir admitted, "Shall we discuss our little jailbreak now?"

"In the drawing room please." Brutus indicated the way with his head, "We can have coffee and a light breakfast served in order to stave off the bleakness of the wee hours."

T'Kir nodded and smiled, "I'd like that."

"Always a pleasure to serve a Lady."


	13. Chapter 13

190

"So explain to me again why Hereditary President Kracko answers to High Admiral Oxmyx?" Riker asked Kirk in the privacy of her cabin aboard the _Enterprise_.

"It's really quite simple," Kirk sighed at the distraction from their earlier lovemaking, "High Admiral Oxmyx controls Starfleet. Starfleet controls both Iotia's terrestrial and extraterrestrial security forces. Although a paper fiction maintains the Oxmyx dynasty surrendered power when it handed the presidency to the Kracko cartel, in reality it gained both leverage and prestige in real political terms. The Hereditary President can't propose a single initiative without the High Admiral's endorsement."

"Has it ever been tried?" Riker wondered.

Kirk nodded, "Once, the fathers of the current Admiral and President disagreed over a policy change. Kracko tried to implement it without Oxmyx's support. He found himself surrounded by Starfleet Security officers and held prisoner until he relented and withdrew the legislation."

"So the planet is still run like a syndicate." Riker mused.

"Of course." Kirk grinned, "My namesake had it right when he said that it was the only way to unite my people. It's worked for us for over a hundred years now. No need to change something that works."

"Have you ever thought about joining the Federation?" Riker asked innocently.

"Join the Feds?" Kirk was honestly puzzled, "Why? We have everything we need right here. Despite the Prime Directive, the Feds would just send people, like before, to try and change us. We're comfortable being who we are. Why change?"

Riker had no ready answer for that question since it was the same query that governed his life.

* * *

Lisea Danan awoke with a start. She'd never started having nightmares until she'd been forced to endure watching Macen and his crewmen fight for their lives night after night. Although she still strongly believed in the reasoning that had ended her romantic relationship with Macen, she still deeply cared for him. She had no doubts that either Amanda Drake or her mentor, Allynna Nechayev, had used the same ties to motivate Macen into a rescue attempt.

She found it strange that she was more concerned over her former lover's fate than her own. She'd had plenty of concerns when she'd first been selected as a slave of the Imperial Household. She'd wondered whether or not the young Emperor's sexual tastes ran to the "exotic". She'd since learned otherwise.

Aurelius Romulus had his pick of willing, native, courtesans. He had no need to "sully" himself with an off-worlder when he had the fruits of Magna Roma stretched out before him. If anything, Danan had been treated with the utmost respect. Slavery may have evolved into a genteel establishment but at its heart it still remained slavery.

Danan's will was not her own and neither were her movements. Her beauty and intelligence had soon earned Romulus' trust as well, she suspected, as that of his Star Admiral. As long as she did her duties with grace and precision, she'd please her "master". Vandalius' motives were far murkier.

Born the scion of a subject German lord, Alaric had enjoyed the run of the Imperial Palace since he was a child. His devotion to Nova Roma and the Empire was absolute. He was, however, often a voice for social change and that voice carried great weight with his former charge.

The major item of contention between the former mentor and student was the ongoing involvement of the Omicrons in Roman affairs. Vandalius hated these enigmatic aliens while Romulus seemed to think he had them deceived into doing his bidding. Danan, like Alaric, saw the lie behind Aurelius' delusion. The Omicrons served no needs but their own. For now, their needs just happened to coincide with Nova Roma's.

Although she'd never heard of them, nor had anyone in her symbiot's lengthy lifespan, the Omicrons carried themselves with the confidence of an elder race. The onyx skinned giants comported themselves with enough arrogance to shame both the Romulans and the Cardassians. Although uncertain of their origins, she was reminded of tales of the Iconians at the height of their interstellar reign of terror. The Omicrons saw themselves as the masters of all they surveyed and Danan couldn't help but feel some of that belief was warranted.

Ezexial, leader of the Omicron mission to Magna Roma, wanted Macen dead. As the commander of Nova Roma's internal security forces, he could easily make this happen. So far, he'd stayed his hand out of deference to the Emperor. Danan wasn't certain how much longer Ezexial would remain comfortable in his cloak of subservience. It was only a matter of time before the alien asserted himself and Macen and the others died. They needed an escape.

Lisea had made discreet inquiries amongst the other Household slaves. One, a native African who was drawn to Danan, offered a glimmer of hope. Household women were often rewarded with congical visits with gladiators. If Danan could earn such a visit, the she might be able to help Macen co-ordinate an escape. The African offered to help further, in exchange for congical rights of his own with the "leopard" woman. Much as Danan longed for some sexual release, it was all too mercenary for her tastes.

Today, she decided, she would request a tryst with Macen. The worst that could happen was a refusal. At the very least, she'd plant the idea of her intent and wait for it to be a spontaneous "gesture". Hopefully Brin and the others could stay alive that long. The "oldest" of them was really struggling while both Macen and his Angosian killing machine were showing signs of tiring.

* * *

"It just so happens that an alien within the Imperial Household is making inquiries as to how to assist your comrades." Brutus revealed over a goblet of wine.

T'Kir's eyebrow arched, "Let me guess, female with dark spots along her face and neck?"

"Indeed!" Brutus confirmed, "However did you know?"

"It's just my luck." T'Kir groaned.

"Is there a problem, my Lady?" Brutus asked solicitously.

"A former rival." T'Kir shrugged.

Brutus shook his head; "You have no rivals, my Lady. You are exquisitely unique."

T'Kir gave him a wan smile, "Thanks, but you don't know the competition."

"But I've met her." Brutus revealed, "She is now a slave in the Imperial Household. She seems quick-witted enough, but totally docile."

T'Kir laughed, "Lisea Danan is many things, but docile isn't one of them. She's biding her time."

"For escape," Brutus wondered, "or for the man you fear she'll try to acquire."

T'Kir's features contorted in outrage, then she subsided, "We have an agreement over that issue."

"Then what are your concerns?" Brutus gently inquired.

"That she'll forget about our little arrangement." T'Kir confessed despite herself, "There's a lot of shared history between the three of us."

"I think you have little to worry about." Brutus consoled, "Men seek capable women for mates and you are as capable as any woman I have ever encountered. If it were not for your strange ears, I might elect to pursue you myself."

T'Kir blushed, "Thank you."

Brutus waved his hand dismissively, "No thanks are required, my Lady. The truth is what it is."

"Not always." T'Kir grimaced.

"The truth remains constant, only our perceptions of it change." Brutus reiterated, "This is the first and most fundamental conflict between my brethren and the Empire."

T'Kir mulled this over while Brutus brightened, "Your connection to the alien slave may prove useful."

"How?"

"We can utilise her to deliver a message to your comrades." Brutus smiled.

T'Kir nodded, "Nice in theory but how're we gonna pull that one off?"

Brutus' smile widened, "Aurelius owes me a few favours. I think I can arrange it."

T'Kir brightened, "Then let's do it!"

* * *

Danan was surprised to be summoned away from her cleaning duties. She'd discovered that the drudgery of household chores was comparable to that of time compressed astrographical survey scans. Hours of labour yielded little visible results and yet it still had to be done. Her years of running deep space scans granted her the patience to excel at this work while other alien slaves failed to adapt.

She was brought out to the garden veranda. Seated in a semi-circle was Aurelius Romulus and his courtesans. Standing before the Emperor was a solemn looking young man. His eyes met Danan's with an earnestness that surprised her. More rattled than ever before, she passively followed the slave that had summoned her as he led her before the Emperor.

"Ah, Danan," Romulus said with delight as he diverted his attention from his favourite of the moment, "it seems you have honoured one of my loyal comrades with an act of service. Flavius Brutus is an honourable man and wishes to honour you in return. You have been given an afternoon in the gladiatorial pens. It has been arranged for you to be tended by the leader of the aliens currently courting the public's favour."

Romulus paused thoughtfully, "If this continues, aliens may find a foothold on our world after all."

Danan let Ezexial's presence pass as she curtsied, "Thank you, my Lord."

"Thank Brutus." Romulus chortled, "Accompany Brutus' man here. He will take you to the Coliseum and return you when you are done."

She silently bowed her head and followed the unknown slave. Silence continued as she boarded the aircar. She wondered if he would speak at all as he activated the craft's repulsorlifts. The droning hum of the outdated lifts reverberated through the car's cabin as it took flight.

"I have a message for you." The unnamed slave announced suddenly.

"Really?" she asked sarcastically, "From whom?"

"From T'Kir." the slave informed her.

Danan listened in wide-eyed shock as the message was delivered verbatim.

* * *

"So, we're ready to go?" Riker asked eagerly.

"In two hours." Kirk replied, "I want to give the latest arrivals a rest before departure."

"Finally." Riker breathed, "We can get some action."

Jamie Kirk smiled at him, hinting at all the action he'd already endured.

* * *

Macen accompanied the guard, surprised at the interruption of the afternoon's normal routine. He was led to a boudoir. Minutes later, the steel door to the bedchamber opened again. Although prepared to once again rebuff the advances of a slave or a Roman lady, he was not prepared for the presence of his fellow occupant.

"Lees?" he asked in utter disbelief.

"It's really me, Brin." she assured him.

"How?" he stammered, "Why?"

"Well, you saw me with Aurelius Romulus. That explains the how. I'm currently a slave with the Imperial Household. I'm told it's an honour." She gave him a wan smile, "As far as the why goes, you have to come over here to discover that for yourself."

Although surprised by the suggestive tone she'd used, Macen complied and Danan began whispering in his ear, "Ruffle my clothing as though we were making desperate love. I'll provide sound effects as needed. They monitor these rooms but they won't observe too closely if we put on a show."

Danan let out a yelp of excitement and then continued, "T'Kir and a native group of insurgents known as the Crusaders are going to free you tonight. They have it all planned, just be ready to react when they make their move. Slam me against the wall and start dry humping me. It'll add to the theatre." She moaned for added effect.

"T'Kir will make her move after you dispatch your opponents tonight. Their connection has provided them with military phase pistols. I don't know how good these Crusaders are but they're supposed to the best they have. Hold on… Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Macen fought a smirk; "You were never this vocal when we did it for real."

"That was for an audience of one and far more sincere than this tripe." she hesitated, "Oh Brin, I'm sorry to have dragged you into this."

"And when did you do this?"

"I'm sure Nechayev or Drake used my presence here as an inducement to volunteer for this mission."

"I would have volunteered anyway." he assured her.

"Let's end this." she whispered, "I can feel you!"

Macen groaned.

"Oh baby." Danan cooed as they separated. They made a show of rustling their clothes like they were redressing.

"Now what?" Danan asked.

"Don't know." Macen admitted, "I've turned everyone else down."

"There were others?"

"Ever since we started winning." Macen confessed, "Daggit's been a virtual one-man army."

"He hasn't!"

Macen shrugged, "Don't ask, don't tell."

"What about Dracas?"

"A few ladies were shot down but the powers that be quickly deduced Hal's true preferences and began sending men." Macen ran a hand through his hair, "I haven't checked on the results since then."

"It'd be immoral." Danan protested.

Knowing Trill's liberal views on homosexuality, Macen took the comment to mean the whole practice in general, "James Kirk indulged while here."

"He practically indulged every time he landed on a planet." Danan fumed.

"True," Macen conceded, "but it did set a precedent."

"It's taking advantage of vulnerable women." Danan argue.

"Or men, in Dracas' case." Macen reminded.

"Whatever."

"Although they're slaves, they're still consenting adults." Macen said, "Trill philosophy is filled with countless volumes revolving around the freedoms of consenting adults and their decisions. It's practically the basis for your society. I'm surprised to find you being ultra conservative on the issue."

She nodded, "It's the whole slavery thing. I just overreacted because I wasn't sent here by choice. That means that some of these others aren't either."

"Then why assume they are being forced after they get here?" Macen inquired, "These are honourable men. If they find solace while facing death every night, let them enjoy it."

"And you?"

Macen shrugged, "I'm a one woman kind of guy."

"Who is she?"

Macen grinned, "That'd be telling."

Danan was about to protest when the door opened. The guard summoned her and she left without protest. Macen's guard arrived several minutes later. The smirk on the guard's face let Macen know his escort was one of the eavesdroppers for that afternoon.

* * *

Grace hovered over her flight control board like a raptor seeking prey. She was in her element now. Her skills and aptitude were partly her own and partly a result of her having received her mother's skills and memories along with those of her entire ancestral line. The memories weren't active, but were rather like a wellspring of knowledge and skills from which to draw on. Drea, her mother, had the strongest influence since she was the closest link in the generational dynasty.

Hannah hated the fact that she had to hide the true scope of her abilities, and her mission, from those that she considered her friends. Grace's parents had adopted human form upon entering the Milky Way galaxy. Their native physiques, born and bred for the Andromeda galaxy, could not withstand the fundamental environmental differences of the Milky Way. The dying Kelvans scanned a nearby human settlement and altered themselves at the genetic level. Having adopted humanoid form, they could now survive the formerly hostile environment surrounding them.

Encountering James Kirk and the crew of the _NCC-1701 USS Enterprise_, the Kelvans swiftly learned several things. They had recreated themselves as the ultimate expression of the human genome as they found it. Their bodies and reflexes were several times faster and stronger than any native-born human. Combined with their massive intellects and generational memories, the Kelvans were more than a match for any humanoid they could encounter. However, they had not counted on gaining the capacity for human emotion as well.

This proved their undoing. The centuries long voyage back to Kelvan would only reinforce the behaviours in the offspring since the alterations they'd undergone were irreversible. Genetics combined with dynastic memory transfer would completely alienate the returning scouts from their people. The effort to return to Kelvan was doomed before it was begun.

The Kelvans settled on the world they'd been found upon. Unknown to Kirk, they transmitted a message home describing life in the Milky Way and the price of living there. They then set out to make a new life for themselves. Procreation came and a second wave of Kelvans entered the Milky Way. Following Starfleet's survey of the system, humanity surged outward and settled on the small world alongside the Kelvans.

Ro-Jan adopted the course of hiding the true nature of his people and created the fiction that they were prospectors that had "gone native". The Kelvans were readily accepted into the human community and a new plan was devised. The Kelvans were send forth select youngsters into the wider whole of the Federation to determine what reaction incoming Kelvan refugees could expect. Free of disease and harmful mutations, the original Kelvan scouts possessed nearly Vulcan lifespans. They produced several children before age inhibited their procreative capabilities. Now the children were producing the children.

Grace was born in the last wave of offspring produced by the elder Kelvans. Named to allay human suspicions, Grace had been chosen before birth to be among those sent into the Federation. She would have the most dangerous task of all, the infiltration of Starfleet. She was groomed from birth for her task.

When the time arrived for her to undertake her mission, several minor changes were made to her appearance. Her naturally dark hair was made blond. She was given brown eyes to mask their original retinal pattern. The new pattern matched a created colonial dossier prepared for her and her Starfleet Academy entrance exams. The rest came naturally; her waif-like physique belied her paranormal strength and endurance. Her reflexes and intelligence could both could be attributed to talent.

Hannah Grace had been transformed into the ultimate infiltrator. It amused her when Section 31 approached her and asked her to "observe" other members of Starfleet. She planned to use them even as they used her. Accessing Section 31's resources, she could more easily gauge the prevailing temperaments of the Federation. She had not counted on being placed as Julia D'art's back-up on both the CONN and Section 31 duties.

D'art was revealed as a Section 31 spy but Hannah escaped detection. Watching Macen in action inspired Hannah and she broke off her connection with Section 31. Desiring an agent-in-place within the newly formed Special Investigation Division's premier action team, Section 31 responded by kidnapping Grace and holding her until they could speak with Macen. Once again, Macen astounded Grace by forgiving her lie of omission. She was accepted back into the team without qualm or reservation. It was Grace's first concrete experience with the forgiving ideals of the Federation. Strange that a man born outside of the Federation taught this lesson.

From that moment on, Grace struggled with her conscience. Her mission was supposed to remain secret but she strongly suspected Macen wouldn't care one way or the other. Her task was a peaceful one. Why then must it remain shrouded in mystery?

Grace felt lied to by the very people that had given her life. The emotional schism created by this sense of betrayal threatened to spill over into her professional life. She could maintain the duplicity as long as she performed her duties but a breach of those same responsibilities would garner greater scrutiny. Frankly, Grace found it hard to care any more.

Discovery would bring with it a sense of relief. She still couldn't bring herself to reveal any details of her past but if someone were to discover them on their own. It would elicit a torrent of confessions. Grace yearned for this release. The growing tension she felt could only find temporary reprieve in combat, which is why she fixated on the navigation sensors and viewscreen in anticipation of the upcoming conflict with the Nova Romans. Perhaps this time she wouldn't be fast enough or clever enough and her guilt would die with her.


	14. Chapter 14

203

T'Kir swallowed hard as she passed the ticket booth of the Coliseum. Of all her masquerades since arriving on Magna Roma, this seemed the most dangerous. Still clad in her military courier garb, T'Kir joined the milling throng inside the Coliseum's massive walls. Built earlier in the century, the Nova Roman Coliseum would have encompassed twenty of the original Roman arenas. It was designed for grand spectacle for the naked eye as well as the television lens.

Remote cameras studded every surface. Any single point on the arena floor could be filmed from dozens of viewpoints. The studio complex controlling this system was a massive underground labyrinth dwarfed only by the gladiator pens. It was also about to be proven to be the complex's weakest point.

The Crusaders' plans were simple. They placed gunmen at every level of the seats. Several Crusader moles in both the studio and arena control rooms would grant access for Crusader action teams. These teams would secure the various control rooms and deactivate the cameras and security measures. The teams in the crowd would control the riotous spectators. T'Kir and a select volunteer would join Macen and the prisoners and lead them to safety. A dozen aircars would be waiting for the escapees and their liberators.

T'Kir felt trepidatious. She hadn't been this nervous since her earliest days in the Maquis. The crowd also affected her. It was difficult to shut off all the psychic "chatter" generated by all the minds around her. Some days it sucked to be a telepath.

She nestled in to her assigned seat. Brutus had arranged for her placement so it was as close to the arena floor as possible. She wondered if the Senator were tipping his hand and then waived her concerns away. If Livia's plan succeeded, then the Empire would be toppled within the course of a day or two.

It would have been easier to wait for Livia's plan to succeed or fail. This option was not acceptable to T'Kir. There was too great of a chance that Macen and the others would be executed during the confusion of a revolt. She also foresaw Macen as having the best chance to overcome the Omicron contingent operating out of the Imperial Palace.

Of course, T'Kir still had to convince Macen to lead the assault on the Palace but she didn't see the difficulty in this. After all the mistreatment he'd endured, Macen would undoubtedly relish a chance to strike back at his captors. T'Kir certainly would and she and Macen were far more alike than either generally cared to admit. It had made them a potently effective pairing during the Maquis rebellion and could undoubtedly lead to a far more interesting union now.

_Stop thinking that way dammit!_ T'Kir chided herself. She had the mission to think about, the task at hand, one of a hundred things to concern herself with that didn't involve her frustrated love life. _Ah hell, who'm I kidding? _she mentally sighed, _My love life's why I'm here._

Try as she might, and she'd thrown everything she had into it over the last few months, she couldn't separate herself from thoughts like this. Thanks to the mental link she shared with Macen, discovered while trying to unravel one of the numerous Andergani pirate cartels, she knew he struggled with the same emotions. Lisea Danan's message to her admitting Macen's long-standing attraction to T'Kir hadn't helped either. Now she knew how both she and Macen felt but not how either was going to respond to those same feelings.

T'Kir hated feeling helpless. She was undergoing the same gut wrenching spiral of destruction that overcame her when her telepathy overwhelmed her. The similarities were disconcerting at best. At their worst, they led to the same maddeningly destructive behaviours and self-destructive impulses.

She craved closure, a certainty one way or the other as to where this emotional miasma was headed. Did he truly love her? If so, was he willing to make a go of a relationship? Could he forget or forgive incidents in their mutual past and ever completely trust her? Was the ghost of Lisea Danan finally put to rest?

T'Kir had hated employing Danan as the instrument of her message to Macen. Combining Macen and Danan's complicated past with the pretence of sex practically unnerved T'Kir. Had they pretended to copulate or had they thrown caution to the wind during a moment of stress and opted for as much realism as possible? Combined with the rest of her uncertainties, these additional concerns threatened to drive her mad.

One resolution T'Kir had made was that her friendship with Macen was her primary concern. His friendship through the years had often been the bedrock of her sanity. No matter what decision was reached concerning a potential romance, the friendship came first and foremost. She'd lost a lot during her life; this was the one thing she would cling to no matter what happened. She'd kill anyone that interfered with her relationship with Macen if need be.

She shook her head at the last. Although true, it sounded a tad extreme. She'd have to keep that one to herself. She might tell Hannah though, what was the point of having a best friend if you kept secrets from her?

T'Kir endured the opening death matches with a minimal amount of muttering to herself. The increased psychic pressure was wearing on her. She still had several days to go before she needed take her medications again. Drugs weren't the problem, stress combined with enormity of the crowd was.

She'd been afraid of this. Ever since Macen had deduced the nature of her disorder, T'Kir had dreaded learning the repercussions of her disability. It seemed her ability to efficiently operate inside large crowds had been compromised. Still, it was an improvement over her previous state of uncontrolled outbursts and actions.

Her place on the team was secure though. It wasn't as if Macen himself didn't have a disorder himself. T'Kir had decided he had the worst case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder she'd ever seen, and it had been common amongst the Maquis. Between the assimilation of his homeworld by the Borg, the Border Wars with Cardassia, the Maquis rebellion and the Dominion War, Macen was a veritable timebomb of dysfunction. .

Not that he'd admitted it. Macen's position often precluded any doubts regarding his sanity. The team was built around Macen. He held together the fractured pieces of the team… and there were a lot of them.

The entire team, if one was honest enough to admit it, was a collection of lost and bruised souls. Daggit was wracked with guilt over his actions in war and otherwise. The ultimate killer cursed with a fragile conscience. Dracas was twisted and bitter from a lifetime of hiding his true nature. Radil… Radil was the opposite of Daggit. A soldier bred to war and willing to fight for the highest bidder. Kort, the heartbroken exile, who dreamed of glory on the battlefield rather than in sickbay. Finally came Grace, the repentant spy. Who knew how many surprises she still possessed?

* * *

As the first preliminary match concluded, T'Kir took and released a deep breath. There were three bouts scheduled before Macen and the boys appeared. Tonight was a special crowd pleaser; three native gladiatorial champions on the cusp of freedom had been arrayed to face the "vile" aliens. It was the ultimate elimination match with the last man or woman standing claiming his or her freedom.

Only it wouldn't end that way. Macen, Daggit and Dracas would refuse to fight each other. This would "force" the arena officials to execute them. The Praetorian Guard's concerns would finally be addressed in a way that satisfied Roman ethics and sensibilities.

"Not if I can help it." T'Kir growled low in her throat, "And you'd better damn well better believe I can."

* * *

"Status Mr. Lucarno?" Riker asked as he shifted his weight in the _Eclipse's _command chair.

"Five by five." Lucarno replied crisply.

"What the hell does that mean?" Radil asked from Tactical II.

"It means everything's okay." Lucarno explained.

"No, its not!" Radil snapped, "I know a lot of Federation Standard, and I've never heard that expression. I'm wearing a damned universal translator and its gagging on it as well."

Riker hid his grin behind his hand as she continued to rant; "If you want to report that everything is fine, then _frinxing _well say so!"

"Such language!" Riker scolded, "I'm shocked."

"Don't you start with me." Radil warned, "I've got a few salvos here with your name on them too."

"Try me." Riker prompted.

Radil shrugged, "All right, what the hell were you thinking back at Iotia?"

Riker looked nonplussed, "Thinking about what?"

"You were sleeping with the commander of the task force we're leading." Radil clarified, "What was that about? Ever heard of _not_ mixing business with pleasure? Or should I rephrase and urge you to stop thinking with your…"

"That's enough." Riker cut her off, "What I did on my own time is strictly my business."

"Macen wouldn't have done it." Radil's teeth ground, "He would've restrained…"

"I'm not Macen." Riker cut in icily, "I don't know if you've realised this or not."

"It's been made obvious." Radil replied disdainfully.

"Can you perform your duties?" Riker asked, "If you can't, I'll happily relieve you and you can ponder my sex life in your quarters."

"I'm fine, _sir_!" Radil barked

"Good." Riker nodded, "Carry on then."

* * *

Macen, Daggit and Dracas strode out of the gate into the arena proper. Daggit knelt, as he always had since their first bout, and scooped up some dirt into his hands. After spreading a fine layer of dust across his palms, he dropped the rest of the dirt on the floor. He'd repetitively urged his companions to do the same, claiming it granted one a better grip on their weapons. Today was no exception.

"I'm telling you, this got me through the Tarsus Wars." Daggit cajoled, "I never once dropped my weapon due to sweaty hands."

"I'd just end up with mud." Dracas balked.

"I've been sword fighting half my life." Macen reminded, "I'm used to the feel of a blade."

"Why did you drop your weapon if wasn't due to sweaty hands?" Dracas inquired.

Daggit scowled.

"Hey, it's just a question."

"Look at today's bruisers." Macen interrupted, pointing at the three fighters emerging from the opposing gladiatorial pit.

"I've got the woman!" Dracas chimed.

Macen and Daggit stared at him and he shrugged, "I don't mean to sound sexist, but I think I'd stand a better chance against her than either of those thugs."

Macen and Daggit shifted their gaze towards the advancing fighters then to each other. Daggit shook his head; "She'll be fast."

Macen shrugged, "It's your funeral."

"Not today." Dracas crowed.

The sounding trumpets alerted the combatants to the commencement of the event. The announcer revealed the stakes and rules of the competition to the gladiators and crowd alike. With that over with, a second chorus of trumpets announced the initiation of combat. The fighters paired themselves off, as if by instinct, and the match began in earnest.

Dracas advanced on the woman and was surprised the viciousness of her answering onslaught. Armed with a short sword and a dagger, she came at Dracas with both weapons flying. Armed with a matching set of weapons, Dracas did his best to stave of the venous harpy seeking his death. He'd underestimated her, forgetting that female gladiators had to be twice as good as their male counterparts in order to offset their greater size and bulk.

Daggit fought a giant armed with a mace and a sheathed sword. Daggit himself was armed with an axe and a dagger. Daggit quickly stepped into his opponent's inner ring of defence and disarmed him. The gladiator leapt back and drew his sword.

Macen faced a man armed with a weapon reminiscent of a Vulcan _lirpa_. The Roman variant, however, had blades at both ends of the staff. Macen wielded a short sword and a shield. It required the use of both to fend of the whirring attacks of the bladed staff. Macen found himself pressed to the limit of his ability with the sword.

Daggit threw his axe at his opponent. Amazingly, the Roman swung his sword up in time and deflected it. Not waiting for the Roman to recover, Daggit charged towards him, drawing his dagger. Daggit locked a visegrip on his opponent's sword arm while trying to stab the man with the dagger. The gladiator threw Daggit back but Daggit performed a backspin with his knife arm outstretched and caught the Roman across the throat. Daggit lifted his enemy's sword and hurried to assist Dracas.

Dracas was backpeddling as fast as possible. His opponent had scored several flesh wounds that were beginning to slow him down. On top of that, he was tiring rapidly. _I'm getting too old for this…_ Dracas thought before being interrupted by the sight of a blade protruding out of his opponent's leather chest armour. A grinning Daggit pulled the sword free as the woman's body slowly fell to the ground.

"Where would you be without me?"

"In a box." Dracas wheezed.

"You need to get in better shape, old man." Daggit pronounced, "You should spend a little less time in Engineering and more time in the gym with me."

"Not all of us have those engineered reflexes and responses of yours." Dracas reminded him, "I could spend all day in there and it wouldn't make a difference."

"What about him?" Daggit nodded towards Macen's struggling form.

"Him?" Dracas asked, "He's proud, let him be. If he wants help, he knows where to find us."

Many in the crowd began to boo and jeer at Daggit's assistance of Dracas. The fact that the two men did not begin to fight riled the throng even further. T'Kir cringed as a lone voice, then many others, demanded that the arena officials intervene. It was almost time.

* * *

Macen repelled a strike above his head with the sword then countered a counter-strike aimed at his knees. His opponent's swiftness and dexterity with his double-edged weapon was frightening. Macen took a step back and re-examined his options. The true danger here was that damned double bladed pike. If he could eliminate that, it would even the odds enough for Macen to prevail.

He moved forward, thrusting at his opponent. His blow was blocked but it gave Macen the opportunity to spin around backwards and catch his opponent in the face with his shield. The Roman reeled and Macen pressed his momentary advantage. His next attack was a slashing blow with his sword.

As hoped for, the Roman used the pike's shaft to block the strike. The shaft splintered and broke, but Macen's blow was spent. He received a kick to the ribs before he could block it with his shield. Macen staggered back and recaptured the air forced out of his lungs. The Roman now pressed the advantage and came at him with a single half of the pike wielded like a sword.

Several minutes passed undergoing a constant cycle of thrusts, dodges, and parries. Macen's shield barely offset the Roman's advantage in speed and dexterity. He'd finally been paired with a better swordsman and it was costing him. His only hope was to outwit his opponent for he was no match for the other's skills.

Macen confused his opponent by flinging his shield at him. Although the gladiator clearly expected Macen's follow-up, he hadn't anticipated on the savagery of the attack. Macen rained blows upon his enemy. His entire being was now focused on this single moment. The few nicks he received from the other man's weapon only drove him on further.

The deciding moment came when the Roman, backing away from Macen's frenzied assault, tripped on the other half of his broken weapon. Macen lunged upon him, impaling him through the heart with the sword. Crouched on one knee, it took Macen a moment to rise He'd first learned he was capable of such desperate savagery during the Maquis rebellion and his actions came as no surprise to him. What surprised him, then and now, was the lack of remorse he felt.

Although he cognitively knew that it was a kill or be killed situation, he still felt it should have bothered him more. The El-Aurians had been avowed pacifists. This had contributed to their helplessness before the Borg. During the survivor's frantic odyssey voyage to the Alpha Quadrant, Macen had vowed to never again let circumstances or people threaten him again.

He'd first tested his resolve when assigned to the Cardassian border during the Border Wars. His intelligence gathering efforts were often undertaken under fire. He'd learned to kill during these skirmishes and he'd learned to live with it. Once a life was taken, one either accepted the consequences of one's actions or went insane. Macen chose his own form of sanity and it proved reliable during both his time with the Maquis and amidst the Dominion War.

What he was beginning to appreciate was the cost of his sanity. It was a high cost to bear but one that was necessary. Macen was a self-appointed crusader determined to right whatever wrongs were in his power to affect. The fact Starfleet supported him in this role only made it easier for him to continue on, content in the justifications he and Command collaborated in creating

Macen knew enough about psychology to admit that his behaviour and mentality wasn't considered the norm. Macen now felt constrained by the norms of Federation society. He fought to defend the Federation and its way of life but no longer felt truly accepted or comfortable there. His long-standing acceptance and attraction to T'Kir was proof enough of that.

Macen and accepted and supported T'Kir because he saw much of himself in her attitudes and actions. Many had supposed Macen had taken her under his wing out of pity. The plain truth was that he'd done it because he'd found a counterpart in her. This was the realisation that had driven Macen and Danan apart. Once Danan understood this elemental truth, she knew she'd never be able to compete with T'Kir for Macen's affections.

As Macen stood, he felt weary. Weary down to the very core of his being. Ever since the assimilation of his homeworld and the loss of all his loved ones, Macen had maintained a barrier between himself and others. Truth be told, Macen didn't completely trust others.

It was a strange contradiction. Macen engendered the trust of his subordinates and teammates owing to his intense loyalty towards them, but he never fully trusted them. He always waited for them disappear or betray him. He was tired. Too much paranoia and anxiety over the past eighty decades had worn at him. He wanted to love again… and who better than a telepath?

Macen knew if he committed to a relationship with T'Kir, he'd have to give all or nothing. There could be no holding back, not if he wanted it to work. This had been the factor that had previously held him back. He'd been a prisoner… no, a slave, to his fears long enough. It was time to act, to take the risk, no matter the cost or consequences. As he stood before the expectant crowd, he made his resolution. As soon as he saw T'Kir, he'd confess his true feelings to her.


	15. Chapter 15

216

"The crowd's getting ugly." Daggit commented as he and Dracas approached Macen.

"No worries." Macen grinned weakly, "I have it on good authority we're about to have a jail break."

"What?" Dracas exclaimed, "How do you know this?"

"Lisea Danan told me during my last congical visit." Macen informed them.

"When?" Daggit inquired, all business.

"After we won the match was all I was told." Macen replied, "T'Kir's leading the assault team."

Daggit grinned, "Good for her."

"Wait a minute." Dracas interjected, "Lisea Danan told you?"

Macen sighed, "She's a slave in the Imperial Household. T'Kir arranged for her to 'earn' a congical visitation and inform me of the plan."

"Spunky." Daggit mused, "And damned clever."

"Did you two… y'know?" Dracas inquired before Macen could respond to Daggit.

"No." Macen was offended, "I never touched any of those slave girls."

"What about you?" Dracas demanded over the angry shouts of the crowd.

"Never." Daggit assured him.

"Let's turn this around." Macen insisted, "Did you have sex with anyone?"

Dracas reddened, "I never touched a single woman."

"That's not what I asked."

Dracas looked extremely uncomfortable, "I…"

The loudspeaker blared to life as the Master of Ceremonies instructed the trio to resume fighting.

"Uh oh." Macen muttered.

* * *

T'Kir rose. It was finally time. Another spectator behind her protested her blocking his view. T'Kir backhanded him, sending his unconscious form sprawling. She added to the spectacle by pulling the hood off of her head. The sight of her ears started a stampede out of the stands.

This distracted the guards stationed along the arena walls. Freed from observation, the various Crusaders that had come with T'Kir were free to pull their weapons out from hiding. Weapons were extremely regulated in the Nova Roman Empire. Properly licensed individuals, like Flavius Brutus, could equip a small personal army but it was an unspoken contract that this army would never publicly brandish its armaments or challenge the authorities. The sight of rebels wielding military grade hardware was enough to send the rest of the crowd into a rout

The resultant panic allowed the Crusaders to pick off the potential opposition quite easily. The sight of the Coliseum's guards going down broke the camel's back and the fleeing citizens lost all semblance of order in their flight. The Praetorian Guard assembled around the young Emperor and hustled him out of the building Ezexial spared one last loathing glance at the arena floor before disappearing with his Roman troops.

T'Kir rushed to the edge of the arena wall and leapt into the pit. She ran headlong towards Macen without thought of embarrassment. Macen caught her up in his arms and passionately kissed her before she could react. T'Kir melted into his embrace and returned it with equal fervour.

"Took you long enough." She whispered hoarsely when their lips parted.

"I have something to tell you and it can't wait." He met her eyes and held them, "I'm in love with you. I have been for a long time but I've only recently discovered how much. I wanted to say something before but…"

T'Kir pressed a finger to his lips, "Took you longer." she smiled and patted him on the chest, "I've felt the same way so don't worry about it."

Daggit discreetly cleared his throat, "Pardon me, but isn't this a rescue?"

T'Kir happily grinned at him, "Yeah."

"So shouldn't we be leaving now, before the Romans send reinforcements?"

T'Kir jutted out her lower lip, "You're no fun. We're having a moment here."

"Respectfully, I suggest you have it later." Daggit urged.

"He's right." Macen sighed heavily, "We'll finish this when we have time."

"How are we supposed to get out?" Dracas asked.

The door to the gladiator's armoury opened and T'Kir gestured towards it, "Through there."

* * *

The escapees and their Crusader rescuers exited the Coliseum and boarded the waiting aircars. Being owned by a Roman Senator, the cars escaped scrutiny and the descending net of military units and Praetorian Guards encircling the Coliseum. The cars separated and flew circuitous routes home just in case they were being pursued. Once satisfied they were safe, the pilots headed for Brutus' mansion.

Macen and the others were silent as they exited the car and headed into the manor house. All through the ride Macen had tightly gripped T'Kir's hand and he refused to relinquish it as they entered the Senator's home. T'Kir basked in the obvious display of affection and contentedly matched Macen's grip.

Brutus himself awaited them in the foyer, "Ah," he clapped his hands together in delight, "I see T'Kir had found her lost lambs."

Brutus approached and clasped each of their hands, "Greetings stalwarts, welcome to my home. May its comforts be yours."

"Thank you." Macen nodded his thanks and stood closer to T'Kir to better utilise her universal translator, "Especially since it's obvious you arranged for our release."

Brutus brushed aside the notion, "Never mention it again. It was the least my brethren and I could do since it the blame for your imprisonment falls upon our heads."

"So you are Crusaders." Macen congratulated himself on that prior assumption.

"But of course." Brutus nodded and motioned for a subordinate to carry in three bundles, "I believe you will find these to be your clothes and weaponry."

"How?" Dracas had to ask.

"I have a great deal of influence with our young Emperor. A currency of increasingly limited value, I assure you." Brutus offered as an explanation.

"Ezexial?" Macen inquired.

Brutus' features darkened, "I see you have met the monster. His growing control over the Empire is distressing enough but now there is Livia's revolt, set to transpire on the morrow, as well."

"Livia?" Macen shook his head.

"I see you did not have time to discuss tomorrow's happenings or your role in them." Brutus tugged at his beard, "Let us adjourn to more a comfortable setting before proceeding. Come, follow me to the dining hall."

Macen turned to T'Kir, "Our role in them?"

She smiled wanly, "You're gonna love it."

He shook his head; "You certainly keep things interesting."

"That's why you love me." she replied hopefully.

Macen was pensive after hearing Livia's plan and his predetermined role in it, "So why us? Why is our team slated to apprehend Ezexial and the other Omicrons?"

"I convinced Livia that we were the best suited to the job." T'Kir explained.

"But we know next to nothing about them." Macen reminded her.

"We know we don't like them." she offered in reply.

_That's the truth_, Macen mentally conceded, "We're still going in blind."

"So would they." T'Kir argued, "The difference is we're used to it."

_How I wish that wasn't true_, he commented before speaking, "I'm not backing out of the deal you made. I just wish we had more data."

"I can provide complete schematics and the Praetorian Guard's response plans." Brutus assured him, "I also have eyewitness reports concerning the Omicrons' compound located beside the Imperial Palace."

Macen shrugged, "Those'll have to do."

* * *

Hours later, Macen and T'Kir found themselves alone in a bedchamber set aside for them. They whiled away several more hours in deep conversation. Having known each other for nearly a decade, the conversation easily flowed into in depth discussions on what each hoped for and feared from the pursuit of a more romantic relationship between them. The weight of years also added itself in making such a pursuit a given at this point.

"Do you realise we've talked through the night?" Macen asked with a grin.

"We haven't pulled an all-nighter like this since Parnell V." T'Kir reminded him, referencing a night spent before a raid on a Cardassian communications post in the DMZ.

"I've missed nights like this." Macen revealed.

"I wonder if that's when Lisea realised." T'Kir mused.

"Realised what?"

"That you were in love with me." T'Kir confessed, "She called me right after our 'encounter' with the Andergani cartel and let me know the truth."

"Which was?" he asked with amusement.

"That you'd been in love with me for years but felt constrained from admitting it to yourself." T'Kir revealed with a gleeful smile.

"I've always hated it when she was right." Macen admitted.

"So what changed?"

Macen shrugged, "Ever since that mission I've felt closer to you than ever… and further apart. I liked the closeness and was afraid of the distance. It made me wonder why. The answer to that question led me here."

"Mine was simpler." T'Kir professed, "During said mission, I came to realise that the one person in the galaxy I trusted was you. That made me realise how I felt about you, how I'd always felt about you, and that changed everything."

"Yeah," Macen sighed wistfully, "it does, doesn't it."

"I'm excited and scared all at the same time." she admitted.

"Me too." Macen revealed, "But the only to get over that is to move forward. Frankly, there isn't anyone else I'd rather be excited with. This feels right, comfortable is the word that springs to mind, so let's just try it out."

"Okay." T'Kir agreed brightly.

"It's also very early in the morning." Macen reminded her, "Maybe we should get some sleep."

"Who needs sleep?" she asked playfully.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, "You said it, it's all different. Let's take a plunge."

"Sounds good to me."

"One thing though, sex with Vulcan's tends to establish a light telepathic rapport. It fades away if ignored but I'm not sure how my telepathy is going to react to your empathic abilities."

"Let's find out." he suggested.

"Oh really?" she arched an eyebrow, "Just like that?"

"No, like this." with that he pounced upon her and began wrestling her.

* * *

Dawn came swiftly. Daggit stood in the main banquet hall where the selected Crusader action teams were assembling. Dracas entered, looking bleary eyed. Despite garnering his freedom, the engineer had slept poorly.

"Morning." Daggit said by way of greetings.

Dracas poured himself a cup of coffee. The Chief was famed for his inability to articulate before his first cup of caffeine. He took several deep drafts before levelling the cup, ready at hand for the next needed swig. He blinked away sleep and levelled his gaze at Daggit.

"Why are you so damned chipper this morning?"

"I finally have an enemy I understand and a mode of combat I excel at." Daggit explained with a feral smile, "We're going to war and thanks to the scientists back home, I'm _good _at war."

Dracas felt an involuntary shiver go straight down his spine at hearing this. Judging by Daggit's tone, the pre-programmed combat responses Angosia's psych team had instilled in Daggit and the other super-soldiers were already activated. His friend was now little more than a humanoid killing machine. He found solace in the appearance of Macen and T'Kir.

There was something in the spring of their step, the shared glances, and the glowing smiles that caught his attention. He'd chalked up their display back at the Coliseum as sheer exuberance. That opinion radically changed as he observed the couple now. It had often, and in hushed whispers, been asked why the two of them hadn't been involved. He was getting a taste of the answer now.

"By all that's unholy, you've had sex!" Dracas hissed, "Oh gods, life as we know it is effectively over."

"You're acting like this is the end of the world, Chief." Macen chided him; "Don't you think that's an overreaction?"

"No, I don't." Dracas huffed, "You two were practically inseparable before, if you're going down this road, then you really will be two ends of the same reactor."

"Thanks." T'Kir ignored the criticism lacing the comment.

Dracas shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Hopeless."

"I heard that." T'Kir warned him accusingly then hit him squarely on the shoulder, "And I heard _that _too."

Trying to mind both his thoughts and words, Dracas moved forward towards the centre table, where Brutus was assembling the action team leaders. Macen and T'Kir each took a seat at the leaders' table. Joining the other action team members at various tables around the centre, Daggit and Dracas sat down beside the four Crusaders slotted to join them for the assault. Dracas shifted in his seat uncomfortably, causing Daggit to elbow him in the ribs.

"What's the matter with you?"

"It's them." Dracas accused, "They're scary this way."

"Happiness is a problem for you?" Daggit scowled, "Thanks for the heads up."

"It's not that." Dracas sighed, "They're just… too comfortable already."

"That's because this should have happened years ago." Daggit opined, "If it had, T'Kir may have stayed out of that psychiatric prison Macen broke her out of."

"She got there by trying to skewer him." Dracas dryly reminded his younger comrade.

"Which she did because she was tired of Lisea Danan being in the way of them. Danan was the target, not Macen."

"And this justifies it?" Dracas asked in horror, his friend really could be a soulless bastard when his combat reflexes were in control.

"All I'm saying is that Macen forgave her, so should we." Daggit informed him, "They're consenting adults. They can take care of themselves. Besides, Grace will keep an eye on T'Kir."

"How come we always watch her?" Dracas wondered, "How come we never watch him? In his own way, he's as nuts as she is."

Daggit's glare told him he'd gone too far, "Sorry for wondering."

* * *

"Ladies and Gentlemen, if we may come to order?" Brutus' voice rang through the banquet hall. He stood at his table and every noise surrounding him subsided. The night before, Macen and the team had learned Brutus was the Crusader's secret Pontiff. His actions concerning them had cleared up considerably upon this revelation.

The assembled Crusaders attended to his every word as only the truly devout could, "My brethren, our moment is at hand. If we, and General Livia Germanicus, are successful, tomorrow Rome will have a new Empress and we shall have our own Holy Land. The Leaders of Britannia have forwarded their well wishes and eagerly await our promised umbrella of religious tolerance. We must not fail them. We must not fail ourselves. Working from a respected base of power as an autonomous province of Rome, we will have the freedom to persuade others of the righteousness of our path. They will observe the witness of our lives and recognise the piety there. Slowly, ever so slowly, we will convince them of the truth of our quest and all within the Roman sphere will hearken to our call."

A massive cheer erupted in the previously silent hall. Macen and the rest of the team refrained. This speech was not for their benefit nor was it suited for any of their personal beliefs. Their abstinence did nothing to curb the enthusiasm of their native fellows.

"Now it is time to discuss each team assignment." Brutus motioned for the euphoric tumult to stop, "We have been given a solemn and sacred task. We are to occupy the Emperor's Praetorian Guard until Livia's forces can arrive. Our goal is not the apprehension of the Emperor but rather to worry him so that he cannot rally his embattled troops across the globe."

"Our honoured guests have the penultimate task." Brutus gestured towards Macen and T'Kir, carrying the room's attention with it, "They are tasked with ridding us of the alien blight that has infected the Emperor's mind."

Macen raised an eyebrow in T'Kir's direction. This version of the plan was far different than the tamer edition from the previous night. The early version had Macen's team running interference to prevent the Omricons from intervening on Rome's behalf. The Star Legions were already an unknown variable in the upcoming conflict. There was no need to add the Omicrons unknown capabilities into the mix.

"They have weapons far superior to ours." Brutus went on, "With these they can smite the enemy."

"After all," Macen whispered to T'Kir, "we're _all_ about the smiting."

She suppressed a giggle as Brutus continued, "All teams will now assemble and review their operations plans. I will confer with the Omicron team but feel free to ask me any questions regarding your team's role in the coming revolt."

Macen, Daggit, Dracas and T'Kir were assembled in an aircar headed for the Imperial Household. Gathered with them were four Crusaders. Alexander, Demetrius, Galen, and Elfgina were assembled from separate corners of the Empire. Alexander was from Byzantium, Demetrius from Nova Roma, Galen from Britannia and Elfgina from Lower Germania. Each was determined, in their own way, to make a difference.

* * *

The plan was simple, once on the ground, the team would proceed straight to the Aliens' Compound. The air defences would be neutralised by Crusader slaves living within the Household. These martyrs were not expected to survive. Once at the Compound, Daggit would assume point and lead Macen, T'Kir, the four Crusaders and Dracas, each in that order, through the Compound's interior.

Modifying tactics utilised during the Dominion War, the team would seek out and engage enemy combatants. Each Omicron encountered would be stunned, disarmed, and left behind in the team's quest for the Compound's control centre. The control centre would be subsequently destroyed and the recovering Omicrons herded together on the Compound lawn and detained there. It was a neat little plan rife with holes.

No one knew what intensity of "stun" was required to subdue an Omicron physiology. No one knew what types or numbers of armaments were inside the Compound. No one knew the interior configuration, apart from the construction plans, inside the Compound. Most of all, no one knew how an Omicron would react to the threat of violence.

The aircar's driver informed his passengers that they were now inside the interior of the Imperial Household's air defence perimeter. Since they weren't being blown out of the sky, it was safe to assume that part of the plan, at least, had gone smoothly. A dozen more aircars detached themselves from the informal formation and settled down at various points across the Household's sprawling grounds.

Their aircar descended sharply and came to hover in front of the Aliens' Compound. The car settled with a slight _thrummm_ of magnetic energy. Macen and the rest cautiously got out of the car. Daggit took the lead and the rest assembled behind him as he approached the Compound's entrance.


	16. Chapter 16

237

"Captain," Sito called out, "I've got multiple ships in orbit around Magna Roma."

"Type and number?" Riker asked, pensively stroking his beard.

"Twenty-four of the ship type designated Roman One." Sito reported.

"Radil, raise the _Enterprise_." Riker ordered, "Time to let the Iotians know they're going to war."

* * *

The microcharges detonated, blowing the doors off the compound. Daggit and Dracas still retained several phaser mountable weapons as well as more explosives. Phasers poised, Daggit stepped through the wreckage of the main entrance. Each following team member slipped though the doorway's gaping maw with their weapons drawn.

The front portico split off into two passageways. This had not been in the plans. The only effective way to explore both passageways was to divide the team. Macen got a headache in expectation of the response that order would elicit. He wasn't disappointed.

"Are you insane?" Dracas demanded, "The plans call for all of us staying together."

"Plans change." Macen shrugged.

"So what's the new configuration?" Daggit asked without so much as a ruffle in his voice.

"You and Dracas will take Demetrius and Galen with you and explore the hall on the left." Macen laid out, "T'Kir and I will take Alexander and Elfgina down the right."

"Why do we get the left?" Dracas moaned.

"It was entirely random." Macen explained, "Do you want the right?"

"We're fine." Daggit cut off Dracas' reply. He unhooked a pouch from his belt, "Take these."

T'Kir clipped the explosives to her belt, "Any other surprises you'd like to give us?"

"No." Daggit replied mechanically.

"I hate it when he gets like this." T'Kir muttered.

"Tell me about it." Dracas muttered back.

"Let's go." Macen urged and started down the right passageway. T'Kir followed on his heels with the two Crusaders bringing up the rear.

* * *

Daggit resumed the lead down the left hallway. Demetrius and Galen followed suit. Dracas took the rear. No one was very happy with the new arrangement.

* * *

Macen crept forward, every nerve taut and every sense alert. He remembered how Ezexial had jangled his extrasensory perceptions. The memory served him well. He sensed the approaching Omicron before he saw him.

The hulking Omicron seemed to appear out of thin air. He was brandishing a thin tubular device, presumably a weapon. Macen fired point blank into the alien's chest and all he did was stagger backwards. Macen quickly thumbed his phaser's intensity setting to "heavy stun" and fired again.

Once again, the Omicron was shaken but unfazed. T'Kir fired at the Omicron and he went down. Macen used his tricorder but the readings were unlike any he'd ever seen. Only the rise and fall of the alien's chest indicated he was still alive.

"What setting was that?" Macen asked T'Kir.

"Lethal." she replied with a whistle.

"Okay, everybody reset for 'kill'." Macen advised.

* * *

Two Omicrons met Daggit's team. Like their teammates, they quickly discovered the uselessness of the "stun" setting. As the first Omicron went down, the second aimed and fired his weapon. A bright violet discharge spat out and caught Demetrius in the torso. Demetrius crumpled to the floor as Daggit and Galen brought the Omicron to the ground.

Dracas checked Demetrius' vitals and shook his head; "He's gone."

"Tighten up." Daggit ordered, "The minute you see one of these bastards, open fire and don't stop until they're down."

"Rest in peace, brother." Galen made the sign of the Cross over Demetrius' still body and drew in closer behind Daggit's already moving form.

* * *

Macen visually swept the room. He'd already run a check on it with his other senses. All indications were that it was empty. It was the third such room.

The team had avoided incident since their first encounter with an Omicron. It had also been their last encounter thus far. Macen motioned T'Kir forward and leaned in close to her.

"Do these guys register at all with your telepathy?" he asked in hushed tones.

"Not really." she confided, "They read like loud background noise."

Macen sighed, "That's what I was afraid of."

"Why d'you ask?"

"I pick up a slight temporal and spatial distortion around them." he explained, "It's like they're not entirely part of this universe."

"Weird." T'Kir commented, "How many others are you picking up?"

"None." Macen answered, "That's what bothers me."

* * *

The Iotians deployed with a grace that revealed their recent tumultuous history in space. The Romans aligned themselves with precision but their lack of combat experience reared its head when it came to tactics. Although possessing a technical edge over the Iotians, their predisposition towards working independently hurt them when faced with the Iotians' teamwork. Although the battle had waged for scant minutes, three Roman vessels were crippled compared to the Iotians' loss of one light cruiser.

A new tactic had developed after a fashion. The Iotians would engage a Roman cruiser and fight it to a standstill. The _Eclipse _would then swoop in and finish off the Roman's weapons and engines with their pulse phasers. What had started by accident was swiftly becoming the preferred method of engagement.

The Romans, however, had deduced this new game and assigned two ships to the destruction of the _Eclipse_. With each Roman cruiser mirroring the capabilities and firepower of a venerable _Miranda_-class starship, the _Eclipse_ found herself outgunned by two Roman ships. The fox had become the prey.

Grace deftly manoeuvred the _Eclipse _around battling ships. The two Romans pursued as best they could. In the end though, it was the _Eclipse's _more advanced shielding that was sparing her. As the ship cleared out of the way of a duelling _Constitution_-class analogue and a Roman cruiser, she found herself caught between a crossfire of her pursuers' phasers.

"Came left to 127 mark 6." Jamie Kirk's voice crackled over the comm circuits.

Without waiting for orders, Grace pitched the ship into the recommended vector. As the ship responded, the _ISS Enterprise _surged into view, phasers blasting. Once again, Grace took the initiative and looped the raider over, back onto their original course and behind the embattled Roman ships. Riker gave the order to fire at will and Radil and Sito responded with a volley of fire that disabled their former antagonists.

"Thanks for the save _Enterprise_." Riker commed over to Kirk.

"Don't mention it." Kirk replied brusquely, "We have two ships in trouble, want the co-ordinates?"

Riker nodded towards Radil as he replied, "We're as good as there."

* * *

Gathered in a "secret" bunker beneath the Imperial Residence. Alaric Vandalius angrily paced while reports of the conflicts spreading across the face and near space of Magna Roma filtered in. Aurelius Romulus was understandably unnerved. His empire was coming apart even as he huddled in this cramped space for safety.

Alaric's mood was soured by the fact that his Star Legions were facing an unknown foe without him. It was worsened by Ezexial's increasingly churlish behaviour. The final blackening note that rankled him was that this planetwide revolt seemed to have been planned by his own sister! Every attacking army was in subspace communication with Livia's rebellious Northern Army.

To make matters worse, they seemed to be employing a new type of encryption that had Rome's finest cryptographers baffled. The experts claimed it was based on the same five dimensional mathematical warp theories the Omicrons had tried to introduce to the Roman Corps of Engineers. This was the price they paid for accepting Omicron handouts. They didn't possess the expertise to crack what Ezexial assured them was a rudimentary code.

Alaric smiled darkly at the thought that the accursed alien interloper had also been unable to penetrate the secrets of the code thus far. Perhaps the gods he perfunctorily worshipped did exist after all. Alaric shoved all such thoughts aside and focused on his sister. What in the pits of Tartarus could she be planning?

Livia had always been ambitious but surely even she had to see how she'd only risen to her present stature by the grace of the Emperor's patronage. Livia saw herself as a visionary leader, freeing women from the drudgery of common expectations. Surely this couldn't be just about that. What else was there?

A snarling curse in the Omicrons' indecipherable tongue drew Alaric's attention. Could that be it? Alaric had freely vented his feelings towards Ezexial and his perceived threat towards Rome to Livia. Had she taken it upon herself to act? If so, should he, in all conscience, try to stop her when she may very well be saving the Empire?

Alaric forced his thoughts to subside as Ezexial wheeled on the Emperor; "My personnel in the Compound have been attacked and subdued. Your vaunted "Star Legions" are even now being bested. Your armies across this miserable globe are in retreat and one is presently bearing down on this location. Tell me, where is the mighty Roman Empire that would plant its standard on a thousand worlds?"

Romulus merely gaped at Ezexial's sneering tone, "We promised you greatness and in return you promised us success."

Ezexial spat at Romulus' feet, "I despise failure but I despise incompetence even more. I leave you to your fate child-emperor. May you enjoy the bitter fruits of defeat you have harvested for yourself."

That being said, Ezexial wavered out of existence.

"Damn." Alaric muttered, "I didn't know he could do that."

* * *

Macen entered the hall at the opposing end of the Aliens' Compound only to almost be shot by Daggit. Daggit's team had beaten them there by a few minutes. The only thing in the room was a single pedestal with what appeared to be a large clamshell situated upon it. Dracas was taking readings of it with his tricorder.

"It seems to be biomechanical in origin." Dracas reported, "I'm detecting organic and inorganic materials melded together. It seems to be emanating a subspace field."

He scratched his head and shook it, "If it weren't such a perfect blending of synthetic and organic components, I'd say it was Borg tech."

"I'd say we're getting our first glimpse of Omicron technology." Macen observed. And like all things Omicron, it seemed slightly out of phase with this space-time continuum.

Dracas fished one of the Omicron weapons out of his backpack, ran the tricorder over it and whistled, "Same story with these babies. My nearest guess is that these are laced with tissues similar to those employed by electric eels and _erlshreks_."

Each being creatures that could toss off huge amounts of electricity through muscular contractions. The Omicron version, though, spat out particle beams. Such a device (creature?) might only have one lethal setting. What if all of the Omicrons' technology was similarly based? Could the Federation defend itself against such specialised, arcane mixtures? What were the moral ramifications of destroying such devices? Were they alive at all?

With that final thought left unspoken, the device opened. It's maw widened until it resembled a handheld communicator. Lights and colours played against the interior of the device's pearlescent shell. Macen motioned for everyone to take a step back from it.

It began to hum and the lights intensified. A thin, laserlike wall of light erupted from between the clamshell halves and began sweeping the room. Dracas had his tricorder on and was taking constant readings. Macen gave him a quizzical look and the Chief shook his head in the negative.

_So, _Macen thought, _it's not dangerous. What is it then?_

As if on cue, Dracas spoke, "It seems to be a sensor sweep."

The light faded after it had washed every surface of the room in its eerie glow. It then slowly closed again. It seemed to waver out of existence and then disappeared entirely. Dracas rechecked his readings.

"It was some kind of matter/energy conversion." Dracas informed them excitedly, "Like a transporter beam."

"Check the prisoners." Macen ordered.

Daggit took Galen and Elgina with him as they proceeded down the hallway Daggit's team had come. T'Kir took Alexander and did the same for her team's approach. Dracas checked his pack and discovered all the weapons were still there. Macen silently waited until the two teams checked in.

"Our two prisoners are missing." Daggit reported.

"T'Kir here." her voice rang over Macen's comm badge, "Our bad guy has buggered off."

"That's what I was afraid of." Macen grunted, "We think they may have been transported to a ship."

"An Omicron ship?" came her disembodied reply.

"Yup."

"Shit."

"Yup."

"You can stop that now." she warned, "Alexander and I are coming back to your area."

"Hopefully I'll have our next move figured by the time you get here." Macen signed off.

* * *

"They're forming up." Radil warned.

The _Eclipse_ had easily aided the besieged Iotian ship Kirk had referred them to. Now the Romans were repositioning, forming a line between the Iotians and Magna Roma. It was a tactic of last resorts. Hopefully, the Roman commander could be dissuaded from fighting to the last man. The Romans had already lost half their fleet, two of those total losses to the Iotians' loss of a third of their fighting forces, all of those drifting wounded in space.

* * *

Romulus stared at the plot board dominating the command room of his bunker; "Half our spaceborne forces are lost?"

Alaric nodded grimly, "Only two of the twelve stricken vessels are a complete loss. The enemy has been very judicious in their use of lethal force. They are normally content with merely crippling our craft rather than destroying it."

Romulus practically fell into a nearby bench, "Half."

"We can still spare the rest." Alaric urged, "Contact the enemy commander and discuss terms."

"Discuss terms?" Romulus ranted, "When my forces have been pushed out of Asia and Africa? When one my own armies, led by a former friend, is only two hundred kilometres from Nova Roma's gates? Surrender while my very home is under siege?"

"Yes." Alaric replied matter-of-factly, "While you can still salvage your throne."

"Traitor!" Romulus screamed, spittle flying from his lips, "I'll have you executed for this treason."

"And who will do the killing?" Alaric mused, "All but a handful of your Guards are defending this palace's gates. Do you really think the two sentries in here with us will obey this order?"

"They must!" Romulus shrieked, "I am their emperor! They must obey me even as they must lay down their lives for me. If this Empire falls, it will be upon the corpses of every soldier under my command. I will ask no quarter nor will I give any."

"I am truly sorry to hear that." Alaric whispered then straightened himself out, "Sergeant!"

"Yessir!" the Praetorian barked.

"Detain the Emperor so I can end this madness." Alaric ordered.

"Yessir!" The Praetorian replied and seized Romulus by the shoulders.

"I'll see you crucified!" Romulus yelled as the two Guards dragged him away.

Alaric turned to the room's only other occupant, a very frightened communications tech, "Signal the Star Legions to stand down, then alert our field commanders to do the same."

"Yes, my Lord." The tech squeaked.

"And don't call me that!" Alaric snapped, "I'm not your emperor, you ninny."

"Yes sir." The tech nodded in reply and went to work. After several moments of talking into the subspace arrays mike, the tech looked up expectantly, "Now what?"

"Now put me on an open channel." When he got the go ahead signal, Alaric began to speak, "To any and all enemy combatants, this is Admiral Alaric Vandalius of the Roman Star Legions. Five minutes ago, I detained First Citizen Aurelius Romulus and stripped him of all Imperial privileges. For the time being, I speak for the Empire. I have ordered my forces to cease fighting and call upon you to do the same. Peace can be had, let the violence end. Transmit a list of demands to me and I will see about accommodating them. Vandalius out."

"Let's see how they react to that." Alaric muttered afterwards.

* * *

Off the Normandy coast, the incoming swells surged towards the beach, higher and faster than the norm. Locals stared in amazement as a dark shape appeared under the water and then broke the surface. It was the size of an _Intrepid_-class starship. It had a vague, elongated resemblance to a stingray.

The apparition hovered for a moment, then streaked off into the distance, headed straight for Nova Roma. It reached the capital within moments and slowed as it passed the Imperial Household. Bolts of energy erupted from its sides, strafing the Household grounds. Crusader and Praetorian alike were caught in the devastation wrought by the energy burst.

The Aliens' Compound caught the full torrent of the creature's wrath. The structure imploded upon itself after receiving a full broadside. With this work finished, the mysterious entity flew upwards at an arc intended to allow it to break orbit. It departed as swiftly as it had arrived.

Halfway between the Household grounds and the Compound, Macen and the rest rose off the ground, dusting themselves off.

"I'd say we just met another example of Omicron technology." Macen observed dryly.

"It looked alive." Dracas said in reverential tones, "Imagine what it's capable of, what the engines look like."

"It'd look like sushi if the outside is any indicator." T'Kir commented.

T'Kir ignored Dracas' glare as Macen's comm badge began to chirp.

"What the hell?" he muttered as he swatted the offending machine, "Macen here."

"Thank god." Riker's relief was plain even over a comm circuit, "How is everyone?"

"Alive, despite Rome's best attempts otherwise." Macen replied.

"I've brought help. We're in orbit even now."

"Starfleet?"

"The Iotians."

Before Macen could reply, Riker asked, "Do you know anything about a ship trying to break orbit?"

"It's a hostile." Macen warned, "Get everyone you can out of its way. This includes any Romans lingering about."

"All right, Riker out."

The Omicron ship crossed paths with the Romans and Iotians before anyone could react. It opened fire at any vessel in its line of sight. Both the Romans and the Iotians took heavy losses. Only Grace's faster than human reflexes spared the _Eclipse_. She was able to swing behind the _Enterprise_ during the Omicron flyby.

"What the hell was that?" Kirk demanded to know.

"An alien ship would be my guess." Riker answered.

"I just lost half my damn fleet." Kirk informed him, "It'll take us months to get every ship out of here now."

"If it's any consolation," Riker tried to change the subject, "the Roman fleet is a complete loss. Sensors show three more completely destroyed and the rest crippled."

"Hooray." Kirk replied sourly, "That doesn't do jack for my ships. We'll have to wait around while Starfleet musters up enough repair tugs to get us all home. This isn't going to look good with Admiral Oxmyx."

"Sorry." Riker added as the comm circuit was broken.

* * *

"Sir," the comm tech grabbed Alaric's attention, "The reports coming in from the Star Legion are bad. On the other hand, every terrestrial combatant has responded to your request. They all say to parlay with Livia Germanicus. She has their demands."

"The aliens?"

"Not a word. According to our commanders, the aliens were struck has hard as they were."

_Great, something else to blame on us_, Alaric thought bitterly as he braced himself for the next question, "What is General Germanicus' ETA?"

"She should be in the capital in the next hour."

Alaric nodded his thanks. He hated negotiating with Livia. Even as a child, she had always found a point to be intransigent over and would thereby nullify any and all deals already made. It was bad enough when negotiating a play schedule but intolerable when haggling over the fate of an empire.

_Ah well, _he thought grimly, _I'll have my work cut out for me._

* * *

"What now?" Daggit asked, still searching the horizon for any threats.

"Now we make our way to the Household and check on the slaves there." Macen revealed.

"_All _of the slaves?" T'Kir asked.

"You can check on Lisea." Macen conceded, "We'll assist the rest."

"Assist with what?" Dracas wondered.

"Packing." Macen replied with a grin, "Anyone not born of this rock is going home."

* * *

"So, how did it go?" Macen asked, leaning against the balcony rails. The Imperial Palace, though a bit rundown by recent events, remained an example of sumptuous architecture. The team had spent the last three days in the Palace, overseeing the repatriation of the Federation slaves.

"The negotiations with the various global leaders have gone better than expected. When I contacted them and expressed my desire not only accede to all their demands but also to negotiate further trade and cultural liaisons with them, it undercut my sister's position and left me free to save the former empire. In another boon, Senator Brutus has agreed to oversee the soon to established Autonomous Province of Britannia." Alaric explained.

"A republic huh?" Macen opted not to reveal Brutus' identity as the Pontiff of the Crusaders.

"Rome began as a republic, she should have stayed that way." Alaric spoke with conviction; "We are constituting a Lower House for the common citizens and even representation for the slaves. I know it cannot compare with governments you are used to, but for us it is a rebirth."

"Any changes would be an improvement over what I experienced here." Macen admitted, then broke the awkward silence, "So what about your sister?"

"Thank you again for taking her in." Alaric replied, "Too many here would always remember her as a traitor to the Empire. They would not see that her actions gave us this chance to recast ourselves in a kinder mode. One that is true to the ancient Roman ideals."

"She's not going to be trouble is she?" Macen asked.

Alaric laughed, "My sister has always been trouble. It stems from her ambition. Give her a week and she will lusting over your command."

"She can have it." Macen snorted, "T'Kir vouched for her. That's good enough for me."

"I am pleased to hear it. Speaking of new crewmen, I hear one of the Romulus' former slaves has requested a berth aboard your ship."

"Lisea Danan is an old friend and an ex-teammate." Macen clarified, "She was growing uncomfortable with her life outside the unit. I'm more than happy to let her back in."

"I'm glad to hear that." Alaric confided, "I've always thought there was more to her than met the eye."

"Yeah, it's in her abdominal pouch." Macen quipped.

"Pardon?"

"Never mind." Macen waved the last comment aside, "How're things going with the Iotians?"

"Difficult." Alaric sighed, "The reparations they are demanding would cripple our economy."

"Give them time." Macen suggested, "Once you establish that the damage done by the Omicrons wasn't you fault, and that's evidenced by the damage your own ships took, then their case will lose its validity and you can proceed on far more level ground. If you want, I can recommend that a Federation arbitrator be assigned to oversee the negotiations."

"That would be greatly appreciated." Alaric sighed in relief.

"Glad to help." Macen assured, "We're still departing in the morning. Will you be fine until the arbitrator arrives? My team can stay if we're needed."

"No. Get those poor souls whose lives we've stolen back to their loved ones."

Macen held out his hand, "It's been pleasure."

"Thank you." Alaric met Macen's grip; "It could have been a far different story."

"Be glad it wasn't." Macen gave him a wolfish grin, "Otherwise, I'd be gunning for you right now."

* * *

The trip back to Earth was uneventful. The former slaves were glad to be back in the Federation and to go their own ways. Starfleet Command, it seemed wasn't satisfied with Macen's reports on what had transpired at 492 IV and summoned him to Admiral Drake's office. Macen knew things were going to go poorly when Admiral Nechayev sat in on the meeting.

"So where's the firing squad?" Macen asked.

Drake gave Nechayev a questioning glance before proceeding, "No one's angry with your performance or the performance of the team. Review of this case has provoked a lot of discussion in a relatively short amount of time and we're here to inform you of some changes that are going to occur as a result of these events."

_Ooookay, _Macen thought to himself, "What kind of changes?

"Due to the secrecy of the mission, and of the principles involved, it has been reviewed and decided that Starfleet officers should have been employed instead of contracted individuals." Nechayev said.

"Mainline Starfleet personnel couldn't have come up with the solution my people implemented. They would have been too handicapped by moribund regulations." Macen pointed out.

"Which is why we're opting for an alternative to mainline officers." Drake informed him, "We're instating all Starfleet personnel on your team and placing them on inactive duty. The same holds true for the non-Starfleet members of the team. T'Kir holds a brevet rank of Lieutenant while Radil will possess a brevet rank of Chief Petty Officer. The same classification will applied to them."

"This is one of Jellico's brainstorms, isn't it?" Macen demanded, "He doesn't trust anyone without rank pips."

"Actually," Nechayev broke in, "This compromise was my idea. Eddie wanted you drummed out of Starfleet Intelligence and the Special Investigation Division. This option satisfies critics like Jellico that require an official Starfleet presence while the duty classification allows you to retain your autonomy."

"While you retain your plausible deniability." Macen added.

Nechayev dipped her head, "And rightly so."

"In the end, nothing changes except your ability to oversee Starfleet personnel." Drake resumed, "You retain the rank of Commander with all the rights, privileges

and responsibilities thereof. As Mission Commander of the SID unit, you already have the authority to supersede anyone shy of an Admiral. This gives you a little added clout is all."

"All right, I cane live with that one." Macen conceded, "What's next?"

"The Omicrons." Drake leaned forward on her desk, "From now on, we're all interested in who they are, where they came from, and most of all, do they pose a threat to the Federation."

"So I'm becoming a full time Omicron hunter?"

"Not quite." Drake explained, "You'll still perform your regular assignments but you'll always keep an ear open concerning Omicrons. If you encounter them during the course of a mission, the Omicrons take precedence. Obtain that information at any cost."

"Is Starfleet Command issuing these orders to everyone?"

"No." Drake replied firmly, "They're our bailiwick. All SID teams are being put on alert. We need to do a threat assessment on them before Section 31 rears its ugly head. The advocate we sent to Magna Roma is sending back reports from the new Consul, Alaric Germaincus, that are alarming at best. If what he says is even partially true, the Omicrons are grooming less developed planets into Omicron foot soldiers."

"For what purpose?" Macen asked warily.

"Domination, pure and simple." Drake informed him, "The reports claim the

Omicrons feel destined to rule the entire galaxy. They promised the Roman Emperor a chance to rule beside them. Apparently he thought he or his ancestors could wrest away control of this interstellar empire when opportunity presented itself."

"Chilling thought." Macen commented, "Any other news?"

"We've nearly finished construction on a replacement vessel for the _Eclipse_. You've had way too many problems with its various mated systems. We'll correct that by giving you a proven, stable platform."

"Dracas will be crushed." Macen warned them, "Nursing that ship along has become an obsession with him."

"Tell him to get over it." Drake remarked, "The new ship will be ready in six months."

"I'm glad I travel light." Macen joked, "I'd hate to be constantly re-packing all the time."

"This ship should last you for awhile." Drake assured him, "If not, I'll be forced

to kill you."

"Promises, promises." Macen tut-tutted.

* * *

Macen left Starfleet Headquarters looking forward to a quiet, romantic meal with T'Kir. T'Kir had been less than thrilled by Danan's rejoining the team but had contented herself with the knowledge that she had her man. Danan was less than a rival and more than a simple friend now. Macen truly hoped they could get over their past differences. He needed them functioning as a cohesive unit.

Daggit seemed unshaken by recent events although Dracas was crankier than usual. He hoped the Chief realised that Macen's door was always open. Maybe he should reiterate that to him tomorrow. He'd save the news about the new ship until the last minute. Dracas didn't respond to change well.

Riker had gotten a new boost of confidence thanks to the Iotian affair. Grace had a guilty look every time she looked at Riker. Macen wondered if Tom had stumbled upon her little "secret". Kort and Radil seemed their usual, opinionated brusque selves. The new crew had proven themselves under Riker's command. It would be interesting to see how Livia would fit in with the rest of Riker's crew.

All in all, the team had done good work. Macen was proud of them all. He might not know what would happen next, but at least they'd face it together. It was the closest thing to family that he'd had since the Borg invasion of El-Auria and everyday he was grateful for the dysfunctional lot of them.


End file.
